Hetalian Creepypastas
by R.N.Walker
Summary: The nations are locked inside a conference room the night before Halloween. They decide to tell each other creepypastas to pass the time. Will they make it through the night? A 31-day short-story challenge.
1. Sickness

**Hello everyone! It's been quite a while since I posted anything on Fanfiction. I've been so busy with schoolwork I haven't had much time to work on the stories already in production (check my profile for more information). I've lately taken a falling for Hetalia, so to celebrate my first Hetalia fanfic (as well as get myself reacquainted with the site again) I decided to challenge myself and post a series of short creepypastas (Hetalia rendered, of course) each day for the month of October. You can find each of the original creepypastas online. I hope you enjoy!**

***The Spanish version of the story can be found here: **s/9092918/1/Hetalian-creepypastas

******Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**  


* * *

It was the 30th of October, the last world meeting for the month. America was only too eager to get it over with. The first reason was because he was really looking forward to scaring the living daylights out of Japan with his costume this year– a zombie killer covered in fake blood. The thought alone made him snicker.

The second reason, though, was one that made his stomach plummet– the meeting was being held at night. Now America would never consider himself a believer in spirits and demons _per se_, but he always figured it was best not to tamper with things that might _hint_ of being superstitious. And the night before Halloween would fall into that category…for some reason known only to him. "The sooner you get all the issues resolved the sooner you can leave," America's boss had told him after America had expressed his 'concerns,' "Honestly, it's not like you have to stay there all night."

America gulped as he made his way up the stairs of the building. It was already 8:00pm, and meetings usually took about an hour before everyone gave up trying to make any nonexistent progress and went home. By America's calculations, they should be out of here long before midnight.

"Are you okay, America?" Japan asked his friend when America walked into the room, oddly more quiet than usual.

"Yeah, you bet! I just want to hurry and get this done. Gotta' get ready for trick-or-treating tomorrow; the kids love coming to my house." Japan smiled. He never understood why America, despite his obvious fear of ghosts, always got excited over the only day of the year that holds reverence for them.

America watched impatiently as the meeting went underway. He kept glancing at the clock. 8:10…8:20…8:30…8:55…9:07– why wasn't this meeting over with already? Did all thirty members actually have something worthwhile to say? Finally, at 11:07 the meeting was finished. "Okay everyone, this was a great get-together and all, but what do you say we all get the heck out of here and go home?" America laughed to the group. Everyone gave him puzzled looks.

"What's up with you, aru?" China asked, suspicious.

"Ja, why do you want us to leave so badly?" wondered Germany.

"N-no reason," the American had a strained smile. He wasn't very convincing.

"I say we should stay here until America tells us what is going on," Russia suggested with a grin of his own.

"I second with big brother," Belarus added stubbornly.

"Why in the world would we agree to that?" England eyed the two nations irately, "The idiot probably just wants to get a burger before his favorite fast food closes."

"No, I just–"

"Honhonhon, do you have a girl you are meeting up with?" a grinning France questioned slyly.

"Oh, you're dating? Congratulations!" South Korea applauded. Even Lithuania looked sympathetic after hearing the news.

"I'm not dating! It's that–"

"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" wondered a confused Japan. "In that case, please forgive us for holding you up."

"I know _I_ have somewhere I need to be," growled Switzerland, "I've left Liechtenstein home alone long enough. I'm leaving."

"Thank you!" America sighed loudly, exasperated. And people thought _he_ never got a clue.

Everyone stood up and headed for the door. Austria, the first to reach the door, pulled. "What? Why are the doors locked?" For a momentary second, everyone in the room paused.

"Locked?" Hungary was the first to ask, "What do you mean?" She also pulled the handles, but the large oak doors remained firm.

Australia stepped forward. "Well, mates, it seems we 'ave a problem," he murmured after he too tried and failed to open the doors. Twenty-nine pairs of eyes turned to a now shaking American.

"H-h-hey, don't look at me. I was the one trying to get all you guys out of here. The building closes at 11:15."

"You git! Why didn't you tell us sooner?" England yelled at him.

"Because I thought we would be out of here by now."

Without any warning, the lights went out. Several nations cried in surprise. Fortunately, the room's emergency lights were still on, flooding the room with a dim crimson glow.

"Heeey! We're still in here!" Prussia began banging on the doors, trying to catch anyone on the outside's attention. There was no answer.

"I can't believe they didn't check to make sure we hadn't all left. Those idiotas!" Romano swore. Spain went over to try and comfort him; the latter instantly pushed him away.

"I'm scaaared," shivered Italy, also making his way over to his brother.

"Isn't there any way to get out?" Canada asked his older twin, the latter shaking his head sadly.

"No– once everyone locks up for the night, that's it. No one's coming back until early tomorrow morning." Then he smiled. "We can try going out through the window!"

"I didn't think I'd have to remind you of this but we are on the fourth floor," Germany was quickly losing his patience with the boy, "We _can't_ try going out through the window."

There was momentary silence. "So what do we do now?" Finland eventually asked everyone's thoughts. Japan became thoughtful.

"We can try and find something to entertain us until the staff returns," he suggested.

"Like what?" Seychelles questioned.

"We could…tell stories…" offered Greece. Turkey snorted.

"Yeah, and I'm sure we'd all love to hear the great tales of how your people used to run around a stadium stark naked."

"Technically…they were my mother's…"

"I like that idea," Ukraine chimed, "Storytelling!" Even Egypt and the Netherlands nodded in silent agreement.

"What kind of stories should we share?" Latvia and the other Baltics were beginning to favor the idea as well.

"Tomorrow is Halloween. How about ghost stories?"

"No!" America shouted at Canada's idea, "No ghost stories!"

"Why? Too scared?" taunted England, smirking evilly. "And I thought you had grown up. I guess you are still more a kid than a hero."

"A what? A kid?" America growled from his wounded pride. "I'm not a kid! Fine– let's tell spooky stories. But they have to be creepypastas, got it?" There was soon a murmur of confusion floating through the room.

"Cre'py'stas? What 're t'ose?" Sweden questioned.

"And are they about pasta?" Italy wondered excitedly.

"Not at all," Estonia answered him, "They are a collection of texts, images, and videos that are supposed to greatly unnerve the audience. Think of them as like urban myths or scary legends that originated on the internet. They're supposed to make you jump at night." Italy began to shiver again.

"Then why are they called 'pastas'?"

"I'm sure each of us has come across one every now and again," reasoned Denmark with a grin, "Alright! I say we get this party started!"

"Well, it's going to be a short party 'cause there aren't any creepypastas that scare me," America had that forced grin on his face again.

"Really? There isn't a single creepypasta that scares you?" Russia eyed him suspiciously.

"Heh heh, nope!" Truth be told, America had forced himself to read all the most popular creepypastas he could find just so that, on the off chance Britain tried to scare him with some "new" story he heard, America wouldn't react. He didn't get much sleep on those nights, but at least he was prepared. "I heard all about Jeff the Killer and the Smiling Dog. Even Slenderman doesn't spook me. And since those are the only real scary creepypastas out there, I don't think this is going to be a bother for me."

"So that's why you suggested creepypastas," muttered England darkly, slightly annoyed the lad actually thought ahead to prevent himself from being frightened.

"…But America, you do know those aren't the only scary creepypastas out there?" America slowly turned to look a Japan, his smile clearly becoming more and more forcibly strained.

"Huh?"

"Not even close," the Japanese said with a tiny smirk, "The internet is called the _World Wide_ Web for a reason. Stories from all over the globe are shared, with sites devoted to nothing but finding the most obscure tales." He turned to the group. "Here's an idea– why don't we each tell one story, one that isn't well-known. That way even America can join in on the fun."

Said nation gulped while everyone else nodded in approval. What in the world did he just get himself into?

The nations excitedly pushed back all the furniture and sat in a large circle on the floor. If they had logs in the middle it would have almost seemed like they were gathered around a campfire. Before sitting down, Japan grabbed several sheets of blank paper, tearing them into slips.

"Here, I just made thirty strips. I'll put them in a pile and when one of us finishes telling a story I'll take one strip from the pile." The others murmured their agreement.

"So…we just have to tell scary stories about ghosts and pasta?" Italy was still confused. A loud, exasperated groan filled through the air.

"No, Italy," sighed Japan, "Just a scary story that you heard will do. It doesn't have to be about pasta. How about I go first, to give you an example…"

* * *

**Sickness**

**Based off of "Sick"  
Credited to: David Feuling**

**Warning(s): Implied insanity**

Taking care of my six brothers and sisters is a very tiring job, but is it wrong of me to say that I enjoy it immensely? Each of them was struck by a mysterious illness about two years ago, but I was spared. They gradually grew weaker and weaker to the point that they can't even leave their own beds to tend the gardens. I am left with doing all the cooking, cleaning, washing—everything. But I don't mind. It's but a small price to pay. Big brother used to take us all on long walks in the park or let us lie outside underneath the night canopy to watch the stars twinkle overhead. Now he's lucky to have the energy to sit up every morning as I give him his medicine. It's almost unbearable to see them all in such a state.

They've each lost a lot of weight over the two years. They used to have thin, almost supermodel bodies before; now they're beginning to emaciate, their bones starting to show through their once radiant skin. Speaking has become almost a battle for them, even for Yong Soo, who's the most talkative out of all of us. Rarely do their voices go above a whisper; often times too shaky or feeble to comprehend completely. They're always cold, so I always keep the heat on and cover them with mountains of blankets. I _always_ remember to do that– one time I forgot and found poor Kaoru shivering and chattering uncontrollably underneath his thin sheets.

Even though I am there for my siblings as much as I can, I know they sometimes tire of seeing only me every day. Every so often I invite some of my other friends to come visit them. My brothers and sisters really seem to like it whenever guests come over. They can't 'hang out' in the traditional sense, but they get to talk and laugh and enjoy the company, things I sometimes have trouble doing due to my preference to refrain from speaking. On those days it is almost as if they were never sick to begin with.

I love each of my siblings dearly, which is why I go to the greatest of lengths to make them happy. Even though they are frail and it hurts them to do so, they are always looking at me with a smile, saying "Kiku, you're doing a great job," and knowing in their hearts that my efforts are truly sincere. I deeply appreciate the sentiments, so grateful for the mutual love for one another. It's these moments I truly adore—these moments of always being together with my family that I have constantly envisioned as a child. One day, when they are all feeling thankful—so thankful, in fact, that nothing in the world could ever upset them—I think I'll confess to them that I was the one who's been poisoning them the whole time.


	2. The Final Wish

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!  
**

* * *

Everyone in the ring was staring at the Japanese man, some with looks of complete horror. "O-okay, that was a little creepy," admitted France.

"But not scary," Prussia yawned, "Come on, Japan, I thought you could do better than that. Your unawesome story didn't even make me flinch."

"But it sure made us think," Hungary leaned against Austria.

"Most of us, anyway," the Austrian said dryly; the albino gave an indignant shout.

"Hey!"

"So creepypastas aren't scary; they're philosophical?" Seychelles questioned the group.

"No, most _are_ scary," answered Estonia to the girl, "But some draw their fright not from violence but through mystery and the unknown. It's their implications that startle the listener."

"How can something not known be scary?" wondered Latvia. Estonia smiled at his friend.

"Simple. I'll tell you…"

* * *

**The Final Wish**

**Based off of "The Third Wish"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

A young man by the name of Eduard stood in the darkness. He wasn't entirely sure where to go, nor, now that he thought about it, where he even was. A dull ache pounded against his chest, but looking down he saw nothing but his white shirt with a most interesting red tie-dye pattern and his long khaki pants. With no other objective in mind, Eduard started down into the blackness before him.

After what felt like hours of walking (though who could tell the passage of time in this place as Eduard wasn't wearing his watch) he decided to take a break to rest his legs. After a few seconds, he looked back up and scrambled back a few feet in fright. An old woman was standing in front of him, her eyes milky white and unseeing.

She smiled at Eduard, an almost kind and sympathetic smirk. "I didn't expect you to wander off so suddenly. It's a good thing I found you before you went too far. Now, what will be your third wish?"

"What? Third wish? How do I have a third wish if I've never had a first or a second?" Eduard was very confused. His heart began pounding, agitating the dull ache. Who was this lady, and what was she talking about with wishes?

The old woman frowned. "Of course you don't remember; your second wish was to forget everything. And thus I made it so. Now…what will your final wish be?"

Eduard thought. He couldn't see any harm in knowing what the first wish was. But then again reason stood he wouldn't have wished himself to forget if it was anything good. Were the consequences of knowing the truth worth it? Maybe the first wish had something to do with where he was or who the old lady might be. But why wipe away the memories of them?

"Very well," he said hesitantly, almost reluctantly, "I may regret it later, but from how I see it there's no harm in trying. I wish to know what happened up to after I made the first wish."

There was a dark glint in the woman's pale eyes before a heavy sigh. "Funny– your last request is nearly the same as the first."

The memories came back with no warning. Eduard's eyes widened with the knowledge, the pain in his chest intensifying tenfold. Silent tears streaked down the sides of his face as he replayed the events. Now he understood where he was…as well as who was before him.

"They are just ahead." A hand was held out. "Come. Let's not keep them waiting any longer…"


	3. Willkommen in Der Dunkelheit

**I probably should have mentioned this sooner since I've gotten a few requests but all of the creepypastas have already been picked out. I admit that a few of the more familiar pastas will be in here as there's a reason many of the obscure ones are unknown to many (they aren't that good); however, _the_ most familiar ones (e.g. the ones mentioned by America) will not be present, as there is a certain flow between the stories and those creepypastas simply disrupt it. Nonetheless, I appreciate the interest in this story, and I thank all of you for reading.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Wait, so…who was the old lady?" frowned Spain, "And what happened? Did he die?"

"Why not let your imagination fill in the rest, you imbecile?" Romano muttered. He watched with slight humor as Spain did so and paled.

"America, you're not scared are you?" Canada asked his quivering brother. America shook his head, teeth still chattering.

"O-of c-c-course not, brah. I-I'm not scared a-a-at all. I-It's not like I-I'm terrified th-that it's getting darker i-in the room or an-anything."

"It's the middle of the night, how can it be darkening?" Switzerland glared at America. "And in any case, we wouldn't be here if you just informed us to leave sooner."

"That's right," China agreed, "Besides, we still have the emergency lights on. No reason to be scared."

"Why not carry a flashlight everywhere you go?" Italy suggested to the scared nation, considering following his own advice after he returned home from this spooky meeting.

"Because that would be slightly illogical," Germany answered, "It would be such a hassle keeping a torch on your person at all times. Furthermore, you can already see in the day; why need one?"

"What about at night?"

"At night you should be asleep," Germany looked like that was the most obvious thing in the world. He then paused. "You know, now that I think about it, the only time you truly, desperately need a flashlight are in places where they serve absolutely no use to you."

"Which would be…?" Denmark raised an eyebrow.

"I'm talking about in nightmares."

* * *

**Willkommen in Der Dunkelheit **_**– Welcome to the Darkness**_** (title suggestion by aSak)**

**Based off of "Willkommen zu Der Dunkel" **_**– Welcome to the Dark**_**  
Credited to: Poizn**

**Warning(s): Blood and gore**

There's no escaping this nightmare.

I sit up from the ground I'd been lying on. The darkness is growing ever thicker, the lantern by my side lit but never lighting. There's nothing but the black abyss before me, behind me, to the side, even above. No sky to determine the time of day…or night. I feel so alone here, as if I'm cut off from every other living creature that could possibly exist, but in my heart I know I'm not.

But I wish I were.

It shifts around in the dark, and it's only in my peripheral vision do I ever catch a glimpse of it. A creature that alternates between stalking on fours like a beast and dashing on two like a man. Its blood-red eyes leave faint trails in the darkness, but whenever I turn to look, they're gone. Horns and a tail can barely be made out in the shadows; the devil himself has come to torment me.

There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. It can see me, but never can I locate it. It hears me, but the only sounds I can discern are the scraping of claws and the cold cackle of laughter. I'm lost beyond belief. If only the sun would rise. No…if only I had never woken up this morning. Then I wouldn't be in this situation.

If I'm lucky, this creature will make my demise quick and painless.

I run, no idea where I'm going. The sound of clicking nails soon follows behind me. Footsteps echo. My heart is racing. Despite being physically fit I'm nearly out of breath. Only the adrenaline pushes me forward. And once that wears out…

I take a chance and look back. Those eyes– Mein Gott, those eyes are not human! They're evil, nothing else can possibly describe them. In the short span of connecting with those ruby irises with slits for pupils I could literally _see_ how this creature planned to eliminate me, dissect me, _mutilate _me. And when the monster sees my look of sheer terror, it grins. Its long silver fangs slide down and a pointed tongue swings out, licking its lips hungrily.

As I race down to who knows where, I become aware that the beast is no longer behind me. Ever so slowly do I reduce my speed to a brisk jog, then to a quick walk, and finally to a stop. Both my heart and my head are pounding. I strain to hear anything in the blackness; nothing but my own labored breath. For the briefest of moments, I feel safe.

A snarl, then piercing of my skin. The creature's nails dig into my shoulder as the force from its leap pushes me backward onto the ground, knocking the lantern from my hand. My skull collides with what feels like concrete, and my vision blurs, temporarily masking my sight as the creature stares down at me. I struggle against my captor even though I know I can't escape its iron grip. It smirks at my futility.

Lazily it brings its clawed hand forward, pressing it against the soft spot of my cheek. It drags its finger down, leaving a sear pain as if I was branded directly by the fires of Hell, from my face all the way down to my chest. Its claw slices through my shirt. It then circles the area around my heart. It waits in bemusement, as if playfully contemplating what the next step should be as sweat rolls down my body and I struggle to fight back tears of pain.

Its hand lunges out, smashing through my rib cage and snatches my heart. I should have died right then and there…but I didn't. Instead, I feel drowned, no consumed, with indescribable pain with the intensity of white-hot fire. I scream, practically tearing my vocal cords as the creature looks over my still beating heart with interest. It then looks at me, locking eyes, and I instantly shut mine. I just want it all to end.

I can hear it breathing right by my ear, its hot breath making my neck sticky and warm. Please let it end! Something smooth and sharp glides across my exposed neck. Is it a fang? It's going to bite me, tear my jugular clean from my throat! It pulls it head back, ready to deliver the final strike. I tighten my eyes even more shut, waiting for the flashing sting to end me.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But nothing happens. It's then I notice the weight on my chest is suddenly gone. I feel my face and chest. There's no trail of blood or gaping hole; no torn clothes either. I sigh with relief, letting the horrors wash out of me. I'm so glad it was all just a terrible dream, the figments of my imagination nothing more than that. I'm about to consider pinching myself to see if I'm still dreaming when I hear a _snap!_

I pause and look up. Movement in the darkness. Faint trails of a red glow. An evil cackle.

I cannot see it. My lantern is lit but it is not lighting.

There's no escaping this nightmare.


	4. Dreaming of a Reality, Living in a Night

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

After Germany told his story, several eyes shot wary glances at the emergency lights. "Let's hope the light doesn' go out then," whispered a nervous Australia. Finland nodded.

"Agreed."

Italy was bawling. "Waaaah! Germany! Why did you have to tell such a scary story!"

"You fool, there's no reason to be so scared of a silly story," scoffed Austria, "Much less one about some poor nightmare."

"…Weren't a little frightened?" Egypt asked him in his ever calm voice. Several gave Egypt slightly disbelieving looks at to how nonchalant he sounded; was he even scared?

The Austrian sniffed again. "Heavens no."

"I'm actually in the same opinion as Austria," the Netherlands spoke.

"Da, me too. That didn't even sound like a dream; more like a poorly thought out walk in the woods at night. And I should know."

"Forgive me but I think what Netherlands is trying to say, little brother, is that it wasn't real to begin with. There's no need to be afraid of it."

"'Ndeed," agreed Sweden to Ukraine's assumption.

"Now I never said _that_," Austria cut in, surprising everyone. "Just because it was a rather crude nightmare doesn't mean it wasn't real."

"Wh-wh-wh-what are you s-saying?" Lithuania stammered, beginning to shake like a leaf. Even Prussia was looking a little bit intrigued by his cousin.

"So, Prissy-Boy, you got a story for us or what?"

Austria graced him with a very distasteful look. "Suit yourself. I'm actually surprised none of you have heard of it…"

* * *

**Dreaming of a Reality, Living in a Nightmare**

**Based off of "Nightmares"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Roderich, the most famous musician in all the district, perhaps the country, was asked to participate in a research study. The researchers were astounded by his music, particularly his most recent composition titled Dreaming of a Reality. According to the musician, this piece was about a man who survived an encounter with a creature who preyed on the fears of unsuspecting victims before succumbing them to never-ending nightmares. The sounds the musician produced from his piano could only be described as eerily surreal; even without words his works conveyed the most realistic and comprehensible of messages. One could argue he was speaking his story through his music.

On the day of the study, the researchers asked Roderich a couple questions. One such question was where he got his inspiration from. His response?

"If you think I'm inspired from dreams or visions I have while I sleep, then you are sorely mistaken. The most impressive inspiration comes from reality. You'd be surprised, you know, just how many dark secrets this world possesses."

The researchers didn't entirely believe him. They asked him if they could perform an EEG on him as he recalled various memories. They first ordered Roderich to recount any recent dreams. He did so; but while the graphs showed that the dream parts of his mind were active, they weren't as responsive as the researchers had hoped when they asked him to connect the dreams to his music. Not getting any positive results, they requested he recall any nightmares; perhaps such a dark song was connected to that. When they looked at the screens again, they were surprised to find the sections of the mind recalling physical encounters- that is to say real world events- to be lit.

"Mr. Roderich, sir, we didn't wish for you to think of any real life bad experiences you may have had; we were asking for nightmares you may have dreamt."

"And that's what I gave you," Roderich countered. The researchers were stunned. To test this, they wondered if this time Roderich could recount his most recent nightmares. The same section of the mind lit up. They performed the tests again, and no matter what they wanted him to think of- real events or nightmares- the same section always glowed.

What was this to mean? Were Mr. Roderich's nightmares…real?

As the musician put on his cloak and headed out the door, he turned to the shocked researchers. "You know, I'm not a man who believes in such things as fairytales. But you have to wonder– aren't there times when it just feels like you're actually living in an endless nightmare?"


	5. How Will You Spend Eternity?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"Eep!" Everyone turned to a suddenly jumpy America.

"…It wasn't that scary," muttered Austria.

"I can't imagine living my life knowing it was going to be a nightmare," breathed China.

"I'm living that right now," muttered Lithuania under his breath; Latvia and Estonia were the only ones who heard him.

"Pah! Nightmares aren't scary. You can't even have them while you're awake; only when you sleep," the Belarusian claimed.

"Only when you sleep? Here's a question: Do you dream when you're dead?" Everyone turned when Seychelles inquired them suddenly. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I believe you do."

"Really?" Canada said, mildly surprised. The girl nodded.

"I sure do, and I remember reading somewhere as to why…"

* * *

**How Will You Spend Eternity?**

**Based off of "Eternal Dream"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Haven't you always wondered why people use the saying, "Live your life to the fullest?" What does that even mean? Obviously they are telling you to do whatever you want to do in life– to the best of your abilities– so that when you die you will have no regrets. But why tell you that?

You may not know this but when you die your mind still lives. Your body may decay, but your consciousness is still there, still existing in the Dream World. That's what we call it, though it's not really a world of dreams. It's a world where you forever "live" your final moments, through an endless loop, for all eternity. So go out and do what you've always desired, since you never know the moment you will die.

But should you die in your sleep, your dreams are the ones that carry over into the next "life." You'll live that dream till the end of time as if it were reality. Despite the implications, you should take pity on these people for they had no say in the matter of how to spend eternity.

There's no awakening from the Dream World. Once you enter, you can never return to the comforts of this world. So I wish you pleasant dreams…

…and pray that you don't have any nightmares tonight.


	6. Shopping For My Wife

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Seychilles smiled. Everyone else blanched. As for America, he was tightly clinging to Canada's neck as if it were a life saver. "Thanks a lot! Now how the heck am I supposed to go to sleep tonight? New rule– no more stories about nightmares!"

"Cho…king…me…" America remembered to regain control over his strength, releasing Canada from his deadly embrace. "GUAaaah!" the Canadian inhaled deeply.

"Sorry bro."

"We're only five stories in; are you sure you want to continue, America?" Japan asked, showing the slips of paper in his hand, though he already knew his friend's answer.

"Of course I want to keep going. Um…but uh, why don't we tell a slightly less creepy Creepypasta, huh? Just so we don't all get too excited—yeah."

"I g't a n't cre'py Cre'py'sta," Sweden said. Denmark and Finland turned to him.

"You do?" asked the Finnish man. The Swede nodded.

* * *

**Shopping For My Wife**

**Based off of "I Need Some Bread & Cereal, Too"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

**Warning(s): Blood, Implied character death**

Berwald answers his cell phone. His wife is calling. Once again, for some strange reason, his wife wants viili, ruisleipä, and fish. Ever since the car broke down, Berwald was tasked with doing the shopping after work. The Swedish man never questioned his wife's taste though (he himself has a fairly similar one), and so he goes to the store like it's his own little ritual.

He doesn't even write down a list as he walks to the market. Lately his wife only asks for those three items, and every day too. As he purchases the items, the cashier he is growing increasingly familiar with gives him a funny look. "You know, it's not like we're in any danger of running out of bread soon." Berwald pauses for a moment, finding the comment curious. But he quickly lets it go; he needs to hurry home to his wife.

When he gets home he notices several grocery bags lying on the counter and table. "Hm?" The Swede is surprised to see all these bags contain the same items he just bought, albeit spoiled and no longer edible. Berwald quickly puts down his bags and walks to the other room. "'Ello?" he says out loud, wondering if anyone is home. Rather than being greeted by his wife's voice, he stumbles into the living room, finding the walls splattered in what he assumes to be thick brown-red paint and the entire floor in disarray, things scattered everywhere. If his wife is redecorating, he is going to need to explain how one goes about doing this without totaling half the room.

"'Ello?" He calls out again, stepping into the room and moving around to the couch. Something is lying on the floor, poking out just from behind the furniture. Berwald approaches. It takes him a couple seconds to recognize what's in front of him. It takes him a few more to hold his lunch down. The police are immediately called.

The investigation team is quick to respond and analyze the scene. According to their reports, Berwald's wife has been dead for almost a week. They ask him some questions, and he gives them everything he knows. As Berwald sits outside in the winter breeze, he overhears the crime scene investigator talking to one of his men. "It's not unheard of for people to suddenly develop schizophrenia after witnessing something traumatic. Poor guy—having to relive such repetitive behaviors."

Berwald is naturally confused. Do they honestly believe he is schizophrenic? And even if he were, do they not realize that he would have called them sooner about his dead wife? It's not as if he could spend a whole week in a murder scene and not notice his surroundings.

He blinks when his phone vibrates. He answers the phone. "Hi!" his wife says from the other end, "Do you think you could stop by the store on your way back home from work? There are a few things I need you to get…"


	7. Nakts

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"Dude, I thought you said it wasn't creepy," America practically sobbed. Sweden looked up at him.

"It w'sn't," he muttered, slightly perplexed why everyone had ashen faces.

"Whatever you say," was all South Korea could utter.

"Worse still, we don't even know who killed the wife," said Turkey, "I hate stories about evil mysterious people. Or at least ones where they get away with the crime."

"I'd be more worried if they had the audacity to come back after the killing," Ukraine shuddered suddenly, "Those are the ones who have no guilty conscience; they don't see what they're doing as wrong."

"Yeah, and it doesn't even have to be a murderer," agreed Latvia, "If some freak suddenly came into my house while I wasn't aware I'd be too terrified to return. Which reminds me…"

* * *

**Nakts **_**– The Night**_

**Based off of "La Nuit" **_**– The Night**_**  
Credited to its anonymous author**

A young student by the name of Raivis was taking several courses at the local university, one of which was music. His professor, Dr. von Bock, asked each of his students to come up with a project of how sound can reflect a certain time and place. Raivis figured he would record himself sleeping, exemplifying how the noises at night in his small rural town were vastly different than those in the city. He decided to call his project "Nakts" and planned out his course, gathering the needed materials he would need throughout the week.

Finally, the night before the project was due, Raivis was ready. He returned to his bucolic home since his family was out on a month-long vacation, leaving him unattended so he could finish his project without worry of disturbances. He set the recording equipment on his bed stand and hurried off to sleep.

The next day he turned in the tape to his teacher. Dr. von Bock then went through each of his students' projects while they completed that day's assignment. Nothing extraordinary happened after that. But the following day, before class began, Dr. von Bock called out, "Raivis, could you come here for a minute?"

"What is it, sir?" Raivis asked when he reached the professor's desk. Dr. von Bock was listening to his tape from the tape recorder, the headphones plugged in. He was frowning a bit.

"Tell me– did you do your project by yourself?"

"Yes sir, I did. Why?"

"Would you mind explaining this?" He handed Raivis the headphones, who hesitantly put them on. At first, all he heard were his own tossing and turnings, occasionally coupled with a soft snore, as well as the sound of dogs barking in the distance. The chirping of crickets was ever present and maybe once he heard the cry of an owl's hoot in the background.

Then Raivis's heart froze. For it was then, with the recorder's timer indicating 4 hours and 25 minutes into the recording, that he could hear his bedroom door slowly being opened…

…And the sound of heavy breathing from someone standing beside his bed stand.


	8. Pasta!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Everybody in the room let the thought sink into their minds. "Wow…" Greece broke the silence, "That…must've been a big cat."

"Uh, I think you need to think of a species a little bigger than a cat," England half-laughed, "Try a _person_."

"Wait…there was a person in the room? How do you know?"

"Tell me how it _couldn't_ have been a person!"

"…A person would have knocked. So tell me…how could it have been a human?"

"Ve~! Germany. I just remembered a story!" Italy sounded way too excited for someone about to tell a creepypasta.

"Fine then, go ahead and say it. And it better not be about pasta."

"Um…well you see…"

* * *

**Pasta~!**

**Based off of "In the Kitchen"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Feliciano was grinning in excitement as he wrote down yet another ingredient on the recipe. Ludwig had ordered him to do something quiet but productive while he took a quick nap in the room next door. Of course the young Italian decided to content himself by creating a new pasta dish, a dish he was only too eager to share with his German friend once it was completed.

"Oh, I certainly can't forget that," he giggled as he jotted down the name of a spice.

"Feliciano, could you please come down here for a minute?" Feliciano perked up. Ludwig was calling from downstairs. He must have woken up earlier without the Italian knowing.

"Sure thing! Just a second!" Feliciano wanted to finish his recipe so he didn't forget anything later. "Oh yeah, what am I thinking? It's always better to boil the water then let it simmer-"

"Feliciano?"

"Coming!" Better to go now before he got mad.

The Italian hurriedly put down his list and ran out the room. As he jogged to the steps, he saw Ludwig walking briskly toward him in the opposite direction.

"Lud? I sai- _hmph!_" Ludwig had forcibly grabbed him, quickly and firmly clasping his hand over Feliciano's mouth and pulled him back. What was going on?

"Feliciano!" the voice downstairs yelled.

Feliciano's eyes widened. Ludwig whispered tersely in his ears:

"Don't go downstairs. I hear it too."


	9. Poté Pia

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

By the time Italy finished his story, he was clinging to Germany's arm, the latter with his other hand to his face and shaking his head. Romano scowled angrily. "You were the one who told the story; how the crapolla do you end up scaring yourself?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the younger Italian cried. Japan took another slip of paper.

"So, who's next?" he asked. He wasn't entirely expecting no one to volunteer. "I really don't want to start picking people at random."

"I say one of the more quiet ones should go next," Denmark grinned, looking at Egypt, Greece, and the Netherlands specifically, "We hardly get to hear you guys during meetings. I'm sure you have something to share."

"In that case, I can-"

"Yeah," South Korea interrupted Canada, "You guys are so mysterious. Tell us a neat story, even though we all know it would have originated from me!" The three men didn't say anything.

After more awkward silence, Turkey blurts out, "Alright, you," he pointed directly at a sleepy Greece, "You're up."

"…Why me?"

"'Cause I said so, and if you fall asleep before you get to go, I don't want to be the poor sucker who has to wake you up."

"…But…I don't want to…"

"Too bad."

"But…"

"Please, Greece?" Japan really didn't want his friends bickering; it was bad enough when it was just the three of them in public. "You might as well get it over with."

Greece was silent for a few moments, glaring heatedly at his rival. Finally, he sighed. He didn't want to argue with his closest friend. "Okay…let's see here…there is one story I might know…"

* * *

**Pot****é**** Pia**

**Based off of "Never Again"  
Credited to it anonymous author**

**Warning(s): Blood and gore, Character death**

She came when I was still a young boy. At that time I was living with that abusive, egotistical, stupid jerk of an acquaintance of my mother. His name was Turkey-

("Hey! Why the heck am I the abusive jerk?")

("At least _try _to give the characters names, Greece.")

("Fine…if you insist, Japan…")

-His name was Sadiq, and I had been forced to live with him for eight long, painful years ever since my mother died. But it was one rainy night during my early nightmare of a childhood when I met her. She was both the oddest being in the world and at the same time the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

She was around my age, maybe a year or two younger. She wore a slightly tattered nightgown that was torn around the hem. Her skin was pale white, starting to turn blue on her hands and bare feet. Her nails looked like they hadn't been trimmed in months. On her head was a large hood or cloak, so I couldn't see her face very clearly. But what I could see were two black beads that glittered ever so faintly in the darkness. Two white slits for pupils stared back at me unwaveringly.

I was about ten, so of course the thought of who she was or where she came from never crossed my mind. The only thing I was concerned about was getting her out of the rain. I quickly pulled her into the living room, silently happy her wet feet were dirtying Sadiq's new carpet. I laid her on the couch and grabbed a nearby blanket. I handed it to her. She grabbed it. My mind didn't quite register her not putting it on, so I smiled.

"Don't you want…to take that off?" I asked, indicating the soaking wet cloth over her head. She shook her head. Her mysterious, enchanting eyes never blinked.

"Then…do you…have a name?"

There was a long silence, and for a moment I thought she was too cold to speak. Finally, she said "Pia. Poté Pia." I nodded. That was the strangest name I had ever heard.

"Well then…Poté…you can stay here…for the night." I knew it was wrong of me to speak so familiarly with her, but I really wanted her to feel like she wasn't intruding. Poté looked down at the soft couch before curling into a tight ball. She was cute; reminded me of a cat I would sometime watch as it took an afternoon nap.

I motioned toward the stairs. "I'm upstairs if you need me," I whispered, "If you do…be very very quiet." Poté's obsidian eyes blinked only once. I assumed she understood what I meant. For some reason, as I crawled back into bed, I didn't fear waking up in the morning with Sadiq yelling at the girl or trying to beat me for letting a stranger in the house without permission.

"I ought to beat you right now, you little brat!" were the first words I heard upon entering the kitchen the following morning. "What the heck did you do last night? You dirtied both the carpet and the couch, and you know I have guests coming later." The next thing I was greeted to was a hard smack on the back of my head. I barely managed to keep myself from falling forward. The moment I regained my balance, Sadiq grabbed my arm and dragged me into the living room where Poté was.

Or rather where she was last night. There was no sign of her save for the dirt all over the room. A bucket of soapy water and a sponge were shoved in front of me. "Clean this up."

Hours later, with the living room as clean as it was before my visitor, Sadiq's coworkers came over. I almost hated it whenever they came to visit; it was always boring talk about work or whatever. The only thing I ever looked forward to whenever they came was Gupta, a friend of mine who was the kid of one of Sadiq's colleagues. We didn't talk much, but it was nice having another kid in the house.

As he was playing with the cat I often snuck into my room and I was beginning to doze off he turned to me. "Did you hear about the girl found dead?" My eyes opened sleepily, but the news jolted my mind awake.

"Really? Where?"

"Near here." And he left it at that, returning his attention to the cat. I waited for Gupta to continue but he didn't speak another word about it. For some reason, this news disturbed me. That evening, when all the guests left—Sadiq with them as a few decided to go to the bar—I turned on the television. While browsing through the channels I stopped upon the news. It was a live broadcast.

"Young Poté Pia, age of nine years old, was reported dead yesterday evening around six. Her body was found last night hastily buried in the family's backyard. Her mother, thirty-seven year old Eris Pia, is still missing; police believe her to be the murderer. Eris has reportedly beaten Poté, allegedly been arrested four times for parent neglect and child abuse. Any information of Eris Pia's whereabouts should be-"

I turned off the television, a chill making its way down my spine. They had shown a picture of Poté. She looked just like the girl from last night, only with color in her complexion and the most startling amber eyes I've ever seen. She was holding a plush cat in her hands, I recalled, not knowing why that fact stuck out.

I decided to go to bed early, not only to sort out my thoughts but also so I didn't have to deal with Sadiq once he got back. I couldn't help but ponder over what the newscaster said– if her report was true, then that meant that Poté died before coming to my house. Hours before. But that couldn't be right, she couldn't be a ghost– I touched her, almost dragged her, into the house. I handed her a blanket and she accepted it. True she had a strange appearance and even stranger eyes, but it was dark last night and I was still half-asleep. I let my thoughts float around in my head, drifting me off into sleep before I even realized it.

"_Nevermore."_

The near silent whisper woke me from my slumber, and seconds later I heard screaming from Sadiq's room. I raced into my guardian's bedroom, almost fainting on the spot from the scene.

Sadiq was on the bed, fighting against some creature that buried its teeth and nails into his chest. I could hear flesh ripping, could see blood pouring from the numerous slash marks and bites. With a ferocious shout, Sadiq managed to pry the creature off of him, flinging it to the other end of the bed. That gave me the perfect view of the creature. She still had the same white skin, frail body, and sharp nails as I remembered the night I helped her. But her head wasn't human; again she reminded me of a feline. Pointed ears were plastered flat against her skull, and razor sharp teeth coated in blood were glinting faintly in the light. "Help me, you stupid brat!" Sadiq yelled at me, but I was too traumatized, dazzled really, to do anything but stare helplessly.

She launched at Sadiq, her hands outstretched. I watched as Sadiq grabbed a pillow, probably to block himself from the attack and then smother her with it afterward. But he misjudged the strength as well as altitude of her leap; not only did her nails tear through the pillow and slice into his cheek but the force coupled with her weight and height of her body were enough to snap Sadiq's neck to the side. They both tumbled sideways onto the floor behind the bed.

Later in my life, I'll regret why I walked over to the other side. I'll say I didn't and just pictured what might have happened. But I'll know that I did.

There, on the floor, she was tearing viciously into Sadiq's neck. Her needle-like teeth cut in effortlessly into the skin. I could _hear_ the squirts of blood shooting from the exposed arteries, dribbling down the neck. Before I knew it, I sunk to the ground, too petrified to look away. She heard me. Her head turned my way. And she smiled ever so sweetly at me with those bottomless black and white eyes shining in the darkness and her mouth dripping with blood.

"_Nevermore."_

I fainted.

When I awoke, the sun's light was shining down on me, and I was in my bed. Flinging off my covers, I ran back into Sadiq's room. He wasn't there. The sheets were in perfect order and there wasn't a stain anywhere. It would have seemed like he had left early except that I knew sunrises always began with him yelling, whether at me to get up or him cursing for having to go to work. I waited, wondering where in the world he could have gone. It was sometime around that afternoon I realized Sadiq wasn't ever coming back.

I grew up. Gupta and I became next door neighbors and still remained fairly close friends. He settled down with a family; me, I lived with no one but a few stray cats I adopted over the years. I wasn't lonely though. One of the cats, a deathly white queen with black eyes, I decided to name Poté. The neighborhood children loved playing with her, though I noticed that one of them always seemed to have scrapes and bruises on her arms whenever she came to visit.

I never thought much of Poté's namesake until just a few nights ago. I think it was around midnight, I can't say for certain, but as I was looking out one of the windows I saw a large shadow dash across one of my neighbors' backyard. Though it was late I swear her eyes locked with mine, her feline crescent irises the only white in the sea of shadows. The dangerous beauty whispered two words to me before melting away from sight.

"_Pot__é__ pia."_ _Never more._


	10. The Envelope

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"I OUGHT TO _CRUSH_ YOU!" Turkey grabbed Greece's shirt collar.

"Well…you wanted me to tell…a creepypasta," was the ever-calm response.

"Why you!"

"No fighting," German growled, though Prussia looked like he begged to differ. America, shaking uncontrollably, stammered at the Grecian, "D-d-d-dude, now I'm n-n-never get-t-tting a cat f-f-from your place, l-like ever."

"But…cats are nice."

"I-I'd take m-m-my chances-s-s with some sh-shady breeder."

"Oi," Australia said surprisingly seriously, "I'd be wary of whom ta' put my trust in."

"In a cat breeder?" Hungary raised a brow.

"In anyone. You never know what they could be up to…"

* * *

**The Envelope**

**Based off of "The Blind Man's Favor"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

A young Australian made his way noiselessly through the crowd. He had come to this country in hopes of making a living for himself and his family back home. But apparently the economic crisis was a heavy hit here as well. Money was very tight, and many people were starving for both food and a job. He sighed, glad to know he still had some money reserved but wondering all the same where his next form of work was going to be.

"Oh, excuse me." A much older man with dark shades and a cane accidentally collided with the younger person. His voice was so hoarse the Australian couldn't quite figure what nationality he was.

"No, excuse me." It wasn't long before the two struck up a friendly conversation. The Aussie learned this man too was doing everything he could to find a job, though it was much more difficult for people to hire him because of his age and blindness. The Australian felt sympathetic towards the stranger. He guessed after listening to his story he no longer had a right to complain.

"Say, do you think you could deliver this envelope for me? A friend of mine needs this as soon as possible, but I'm afraid I'm a little lost and no one's willing to give me directions. Plus I need to hurry home to meet my brother."

"Sure thing," the young man said, taking the envelope. He looked at the address. The destination wasn't too far from the apartment he was living at, maybe a mile or two away. "I'm sure I can find the place."

"Thank you, kind sir," the blind man said, and he quickly made his way through the crowd, oddly able to navigate without much problem. The Australian shrugged then made his way down the street. As he neared the intersection he frowned. Now that he thought about it, why didn't the old man simply put the envelope in a mailbox? Or why couldn't his brother or another family member deliver the package? Better still, what friend would leave such an important letter in the care of a blind person to begin with? As these and other questions floated around, the Australian became more and more uneasy.

He looked at the address again. If he recalled correctly, the address led to some old, abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town. With a change in course, the young man made his way to the police station. Upon hearing the story and reading the contents inside the envelope, the authorities immediately raided the place of the address, where they found stocked heaps of human organs, flesh, and even bones for sale. What was written in the envelope that could have spurred them to mobilize so quickly?

"This is the last one I'm sending to you for today. Expect five more tomorrow."


	11. Knopka Day

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Australia finished the tale with a knowing and curt nod of the head, like that explained everything.

"'ll t'ke it t'e p'lice nev'r f'nd t'e bl'nd m'n," Sweden murmured.

"I don't think they found him either, Sve," Finland was of the same opinion.

"Like I'd ever trust the police to solve anything," the Prussian growled angrily, "Seriously, the awesome me would have figured it out from the start the guy was up to something fishy. And as soon as that happened, I'd go over there and kick his sorry a-"

"Okay, so maybe the police can't always be counted on," Romano added. Germany frowned disapprovingly at the two.

"Now hold on a minute; the law enforcement in the story did their job- they found the quarters of the criminals. Just because the murderers got away doesn't mean it's their fault. In society, there has to be order if things are to run smoothly. Citizens can't just take the law into their own hands; there'd be uncontrollable chaos. The government will know how best to help the public. Even if you don't think they'll do a good job, it is still always in your best interest to trust them."

There was a soft chuckle; everyone turned to look at Ukraine. "I want to say I agree with Germany," she smiled, "But there are times I can't help but wonder the role my government plays, no matter how small it may seem. Are we to be blindly following everything they say? What if we don't question them? I think that can lead to some very serious problems…"

* * *

**Ignorance is Never Bliss**

**Based off of "Button Day"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

**Warning(s): Character/Implied character death**

You awake to your brother nudging you gently on the shoulder. You barely recall how he hasn't done that to you since you were children. Then your eyes snap open as you also recall not going to bed with many clothes on last night. You quickly cover yourself but find, to your astonishment, you are in fact wearing your favorite blue and yellow pajamas. When did that happen?

"Get up. Get up." Your younger sibling says, walking over and pulling the drapes back. You have to shield your eyes from the onslaught of warm sunlight. "It's such a beautiful day today. And on Knopka Day, too." You rub your eyes and stretch. It seemed way too early to be morning already.

"Next time, little brother, please knock."

He merely smiles. "We need to hurry. We're leaving in about an hour."

"Okay then," and you watch his retreating back as he leaves the room. You groggily make your way over to the dresser, thinking of something nice to wear for…

"Hold on a second- what's Knopka Day?"

It doesn't take long for you to get dress and hurry downstairs. Your little sister is already in the kitchen eating breakfast. "Good morning," she greets you, a little sullenly, "Happy Knopka Day."

"Ah, sister, could you—uh—_remind_ me what exactly Knopka Day is?" She gives you a funny look.

"I never thought you'd be telling jokes so early in the morning. We were just talking about it over dinner last night."

"…Yes, I guess we were, weren't we?" You have absolutely no recollection of any such conversation. Was this all some sort of joke? Perhaps it would be best to just play along for now. You hear your brother coming downstairs, humming to himself.

"I have some quick business to finish," he calls out as he heads for the front door, "I'll be back soon, so don't leave without me."

"Of course, big brother," your youngest sibling says. With nothing else to do but wait for your brother's return you grab something to eat, find the morning's paper, and take a seat at the table. One of the articles catches your eye. It's a segment about Knopka Day. You eagerly browse through it, trying to get any information. Sadly, the only thing you are able to deduce is that it's a national holiday that's observed all over the country, and that people everywhere are now celebrating by holding parties.

This had to be some sort of dream.

You put the paper down with a slightly impatient sigh. If this was some sort of community joke, it sure wasn't funny. The doorbell rings and you go and answer it. Standing outside is Toris, a family friend. "H-Hello," he says a little awkwardly to you, "I-I was just wondering i-if your sister was here."

"She is," you say, and you call your sister over. She reaches the door, not looking amused.

"I j-just wanted to say H-Happy Knopka D-D-Day," he stammers nervously before giving her a small bouquet of flowers. At first your sister looks at them coolly, but then you swear her expression softens a bit.

"Thank you." She takes them without even looking at the poor young man. "You should probably go now. We're leaving once big brother returns."

"Y…yes," Toris replies, clearly sullen, "Well then, see- goodbye!" And he hurriedly walks away without a backward glance.

"I think he likes you," you say with a knowing smile; your sister glowers at you for the tease.

"So what? It doesn't matter anyway." As your sister walks away, you suddenly realize Toris mentioned Knopka Day as well. What in the world _is_ Knopka Day? If this is a dream, you're clearly not getting the message.

"I'm back~!" your brother says merrily before you have a chance to walk away from the door, "Hm? Tell me you're not planning to go in that?"

"But I always wear this," you state. You see nothing wrong with the attire you're wearing. But your brother shakes his head.

"No, no. You should wear something else. Something nicer."

You're about to protest when you figure it would probably be better to simply play along again with whatever it is your family was trying to pull. "Fine then. Give me a minute." You run upstairs to grab nicer clothes. In truth, you have no idea what would be presentable to wear considering you don't even know where you're going or what the event is. You settle for a nice top and pants. Strange- you don't recall ever buying these clothes. But they do make you look sharp.

Before you realize it you're in the car, your brother in the backseat and your sister driving. The only reason she is driving is because you claimed you did not know the location of where you all are going. Though it was the truth your siblings didn't believe you, but they figured you were not in the best state of mind right now. And to be honest, you're not so sure you are yourself. So far you learned nothing about Knopka Day and are still trying to piece together whether this is all real or not. You look into the rearview mirror. You spot your brother nestling against the cloth you gave him when he was a child. "I hope they don't mind it," he almost seems to say to himself.

"I doubt they will," your sister also gives him a glance. Though you smile at the sweetness of the scene your stomach can't help but lurch. Something seems…off. But by now you realize it's too late to do anything but just go along with things.

You arrive at a large, white box of a building. As your brother and sister step out of the car, you hesitate. The infrastructure was large but it was very plain and dull in design. A few smoke stacks could be seen on the roof, smoke billowing out of them. And what was with that ever so faint scent of something burning? All in all, this place reminds you of a factory. Or a…

"Aren't you coming?" Your brother's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. As if moving on its own, your body opens the car door.

You conclude you don't like this dream anymore. Not. One. Bit.

The three of you set off toward the main entrance, which seems to be the only part of the outside with any sort of attempt at a design. At least the path was made of black marble. As you pass the gate, you read a sign: GOVERNMENT PROPERTY – OPEN ON KNOPKA DAY ONLY! You quicken your pace to catch up with the other two.

Your sister opens the front doors, allowing you to see inside the building. Before you is a reception desk, the person behind it looking up as soon as you approach. He smiles.

"Are you here for Knopka Day?" he asks, extremely friendly-like. Your sister gives him a very curt nod. "In that case, please continue on down the hall. When you reach the end, take the hallway on your right."

As you walk down the hall, you notice rows upon rows of charcoal black vases, some with the thinnest layers of ash coating them. Peering closer, you notice each vase has the name of a family written in bold golden font followed by the individual members underneath it. Each of the thousands of urns emits a very ominous aura…

You three take the corridor on the right, entering a large milky white circular room. In the center are three large, equally white seats. Just to the right of these chairs are (once again white) pedestals with a large flat board and a shiny red button at the very top. For some reason, you fear this room with every fiber of your being.

"Please take a seat." A voice from a hidden intercom instructs you. Your sister makes some comment about wanting to sit next to your brother, sounding as if this is all some sort of game. You couldn't care less who sits where so long as you don't have to stay here for very long. In the end, it's you in the chair farthest right, your brother in the middle, and your sister in the far left.

"When you are ready, you may begin. Remember that this is the greatest possible honor you could ever receive from your country. You should be proud. Your courage and sacrifice shall never be forgotten and your names forever listed among those in the Grand Hall who have come before you."

Your brother looks solemn; you can't see your sister's expression. "Together?" he turns to the both of you.

"Yes," you hear your sister say. All you can muster is a slow nod of your head. You watch your siblings press their buttons. Loud, echoing clicks ring out.

Immediately from the broad face of the podium, metallic needles shoot out, piercing the underside of your siblings' wrists before they can pull back. A horrifying minute passes as you watch a pained expression flash across your little brother's face before it relaxes and he slowly slumps back in his seat. You can hear similar movement from your sister.

"B-Brother?" You pray this is some sort of sick joke. You hope against belief that they are merely sleeping, and that's why they look so at peace, so still. Maybe the whitening of their skin and the slow drain of their color is all in your imagination. You believe…but you know the truth. You were too scared to press your button along with theirs. So you had the unfortunate luck of witnessing the deaths. "Come on. Come on! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

"What's the matter? Push your button." Why wouldn't the voice shut up?

"There must be some sort of mistake! We didn't sign up for this! I…I don't even know what's going on!" You're crying, practically in hysterics. This couldn't be happening.

"Overpopulation is bringing about the destruction of man. If you don't perform your duty now, society will not be able to sustain itself for very long."

You can't. You can't! You can't do what your brother and sister just did. Did _they_ even know what they were doing?

A dream. Yeah. This had to be one. Of course! The world around you begins to fade- it is just you and the button in front of you now. Just a silly dream. You just need to wake up. That's all. Yeah. You've been playing along with everything up until now; maybe now you'd be able to wake up. You reach forward. Yeah, maybe now you can…


	12. Life Lesson

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Aiya America! My sleeve is not a blanket!" China jerked his arm away from the shivering nation.

"No! I-uh-I mean-" He looked around the circling, clearly looking for someone else to cling to. He quickly jumped to Italy, knocking and upsetting a few countries in his haste. The other nation was just as eager to find someone to huddle with.

"Don't tell me you already wish to end this, mon cher," France grinned from across the circle.

"Don't act like you don't, frog," Britain laughed nervously, "I can see you shaking all the way from here."

"Not as badly as you, Angleterre."

"I beg to differ."

"Everyone just calm down," Spain said. No one did, but at least everyone stopped talking to look at him. "See, that's better, right? Boss Spain is always here to help."

"What kind of help are you, anyway?" questioned Romano, glaring sourly at him. Spain rubbed the back of his head.

"The good kind, ¿sí?"

Lithuania smiled. "Help is always good," he said, "Though sometimes I wish it would be a little bit more obvious that it is such…"

* * *

**Life Lesson**

**Based off of "Never Turn Around"  
Credited to: Zoso**

Even though I've been living in the city for nearly two months now, I'm still amazed by everything that's around. Who knew so many buildings could fit in such a small amount of land; I clearly still have a lot to learn about living here. I live on the fifth floor of an apartment complex; not nearly as roomy as my house back in my homeland, but it's large enough as living purposes go. I have one bedroom, a small bathroom, and a living room with a huge window overlooking the parking lot. Across the street from the parking lot is another flat. I heard that flat is going to be torn down soon. When it is, I'm not going to be having the best scenic view anymore.

Since I am more of a night person, I like to stay up late and do work on my laptop long after the sun sets. From time to time I gaze out of the window, more out of habit of wanting to look at the stars like I used to back home. Sadly, the lights from outside as well as the building across the street prevent me from ever seeing the tiny sparkles. Instead, it's always the sight of that large building with no lights on, the streetlights below casting an orange glow beneath it. I wonder if anyone even lives in that apartment. Not once have I ever seen any sort of life coming from that place. Not even during the day.

One night, while typing away on my computer, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I look up. Since I happen to be facing the window, naturally I look at the apartment beyond the parking lot. It's the same as it's always been- dark, silent, and empty. I shrug, returning back to my work. A couple minutes later I look up again. That's strange- I could have sworn I saw a shadow move. But nah! My eyes are just playing tricks on me. Besides, it's too dark and the building too far away for me to see anything clearly.

Ten minutes later I divert my attention upwards once more. A tiny, flickering glow is directly across from me. I mean that literally- on the fifth floor of the other building I can see a small orange light beckoning me. I quietly stand and make my way to the window. I can just barely make him out but there is a man, standing on the balcony of the flat across from me, waving in my direction. Smiling, I wave back. But I have work to do, so I turn around and head back inside.

This goes on for several nights. Around midnight the glow of the mysterious man's candle (for that is what I reasoned it to be; it seems too small to be a flashlight) calls me to my balcony where I then greet my 'neighbor'. I've never learned his identity as I've never seen anyone leave the building once the sun rises. But I know this man isn't a bad person for he never fails to wave a friendly hello each night. In some ways I am comforted by his presence.

But one night, after his usual wave, he pauses. He does a funny movement with his arm which I can't make out. Curious as to what he is trying to communicate to me I rush back inside and hurriedly search for a pair of binoculars. Finding them, I hurry back to the window and put them to my eyes.

The man- he is pointing at me! My heart nearly skips a beat. Even though the act is innocent enough, the fact that this is the first time he was so _directly_ acknowledging me is slightly disconcerting. He then does a circling movement with his hand. It takes me a while for me to piece together that the man wanted me…to…turn…around. Heart pounding, I twirl around. There's…there's nothing there. No intruder as I had feared. Thank goodness! I chuckle to myself in relief; I'm overreacting. I return my attention to the man only to find him nowhere to be seen; his candle slowly, slowly dying out. Until it is gone.

I stumble back in fright, almost dropping my binoculars in the process. I can no longer make out any shadows, any movement. I carefully make my way back to my laptop, my eyes never leaving the window. The mysterious person still isn't there, nor does he relight his candle. To calm my nerves I decide to forget about the whole thing and surf around the internet, maybe listen to some music. But it's not long before I have to admit it's time for me to go to bed. I shut down my laptop and, stretching, make my way to the bathroom. I pause as I put my hand on the handle.

There is a glow seeping out from underneath the door. I didn't leave the lights on, and even if I had the glow is too dim and flickering too much for it to be from the lightbulb. A feeling of dread creeps over me as I slowly push open the door. There, sitting on the bathroom sink, is a tiny lit candle revealing a scribbled message on the mirror behind it: "NEVER TURN AROUND"


	13. Dying of Thirst

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Russia smiled. "Da, what a nice story. The man was teaching the person a lesson."

"Russia, you're a creepy guy," Canada whispered and…was he shivering just like his brother?

"Well, I guess that's one thing we can count on- one another." Denmark threw an arm around Sweden. The taller blond nation quietly plucked the hand off his shoulder.

"Yeah, I don't know what I'd do without Germany and Japan to protect me," Italy nodded in agreement.

"And Rich Boy always has Girly-Boy to protect him," Prussia teased, thumbing the two. Hungary quietly pulled out her pan.

"Dare to repeat that?"

"Sure, I said you and Ri- SCHEIẞE!" He deftly got up, barely avoiding Hungary's attack. The two ran around the room like schoolchildren.

"Settle down!" barked Germany, trying to grab his brother's ankle, "It's too dangerous to be running around in the dark." He succeeded, and Prussia fell face-flat, just dodging the blow to his head.

"Thanks Bruder."

"Will you two please sit down? Now?" The two nations reluctantly did so. "Good, now we can-" He paused when a hand rose. "Y…yes?"

"…I'd like to tell a story." Egypt surprised everyone with his request. Turkey nudged him.

"You sure? No offense but you don't seem like the kind of guy who knows any scary stories."

"…Mummies…" That was his entire counterargument. Turkey shrugged.

"Whatever, kid." Egypt looked at the group briefly, making sure he had all their attention, before beginning his tale.

* * *

**Dying of Thirst**

**Based off of "Evaporation"  
Credited to: Archfeared**

**Warning(s): Blood and gore**

You don't know how much you'll miss something until it is gone. This saying can apply to anything you take for granted- clothes, money, a house, friends…

Water…

Peculiar how that crystal clear liquid is the basis for all things that is life. It hydrates us, waters our crops, sates the thirst of both beast and man. We are devoted to it like worshippers to a god, yet we don't realize how potent it can be. Without it, life would cease to exist. Cities would collapse, governments fall because chaos would reign across the land. Drought would force brethren to slaughter each other for what little resource was left. In just over a week, every living creature on Earth would perish into dust.

Just two days ago, mankind faced this dilemma.

No one knows how it started. Initial theories range from an advanced form of the greenhouse effect to a new type of solar ray that instantly evaporates water. I think at the time I was the only one in the entire village to realize the enormity of the situation. That's why I left.

What happened you may ask? First, every single drop of freshwater on the planet dried out in an instant. No more rivers, no more lakes, no more snow as it melted then disappeared, not even turning to steam, right before the eyes. And not just natural water. Water in canteens, tanks, and other storage sources were gone without a trace. Even water found in mixed substances like soda drinks went missing.

I don't know how to stress enough that our world was in crisis.

Nuclear reactors went off, the pressure inside the plants no longer there to keep it stable. Entire cities, sometimes countries, demolished in only a few minutes. In less than a day international communications ceased to operate, and the entire world was thrown into permanent disorder. Many of those of the human population that survived immediately traveled to reservoirs and desalination plants in order to seek salvation. I made sure not to be among those. Not only was the likelihood of being trampled to death excruciatingly high but there was always the "reward" of surviving to content with– saltwater poisoning. The desalination plants could not handle the fivefold saline excess from the oceans and seas, so any water produced there was inadequate – and often deadly – for human consumption. Fortunately, we lived near an oasis, so we didn't have to worry about hordes of people searching for such facilities. No, we had to worry about hordes of people crowding around the region's only source of water now no longer there.

I heard from the portable radio that the last drop of water was pumped last night around midnight. I had to turn it off after that message rang through the airwave. They had no idea how wrong they are. You see, the real reason I deserted my home village was because I knew there was still one source of water left untouched on the planet. It wasn't easy leaving my friends and family in such a state of confusion and panic, but I had to do it before the guilt of what was to come finally sunk in.

You may not know this but healthy blood is over 90% water, making it a fairly suitable source of liquid to drink.

Which is exactly what many began to do.

Though I had predicted it, it still took me some time to completely comprehend what was going on.

The animals were the first to go. Despite wanting to put him out of his misery, I brought my pet Jackal along with me. We wandered the desert, out of reach and mind of the rest of civilization. I saw from the dunes my fellow villagers slaughter then drink the blood of their dear pets, livestock, and wild animals that trespassed into the area. Evidently the blood they provided did not satisfy. Many fled our crumbling home in search of more prey.

After only a day all the animals in the vicinity were wiped out. Perhaps it is a good thing I don't live in the city; the people there have no readily available access to such herd animals like camels, cows, and sheep. But they do have access to something I now regret never getting.

Guns.

With the animals gone, humans were next. I was appalled and yet sympathetic to how quickly people resorted to cannibalism. I saw it with my own eyes not too long ago. From my tent hidden well behind the dunes I witnessed a scene that will forever be burned into my memory.

A man I had never seen, probably from a village some ways off, wandered into mine. He was begging for help, his croaking voice wavering in the air as he was in desperate need of aid. All the elderly in his village were dying or dead, the children and many of the adults already had. I felt so much pity for the stranger that I almost decided to shout from my location. I almost revealed to him my hiding spot so as to offer him shade and at least a bit of my rations. I know he at the very least deserved it. I _almost_ did so.

Before I could even get out of the tent, three villagers – a man, a woman, and a child – flew out of their huts and pounced on the unsuspecting man. They quickly set upon him their makeshift weapons. The man had a hammer—he used it to smash in the old man's joints. I could hear the sound all the way from my home. _Crack! Crack! Crack!_ Each blow to the man was like a blow to my heart – and to my stomach. It took all I had to keep myself from retching at the sound alone.

The woman had a hoe, which she used as a hatchet. She brought the tool down over each of the joints the man had crushed. It sliced through the flesh and bone like, please pardon the expression, a hot knife through butter. But whom my heart really wept for was for the child, for the dehydrated boy was only doing this out of pure desperation just like his parents. I couldn't look away as the boy stuck his thumbs into the stranger's eyes. The old man released a scream so bestial, like nothing I had ever heard or could ever imagine; I had to force Jackal's mouth shut so that he too would begin howling and reveal us.

I guess the woman tired of the man's wails. Or maybe she just wanted to end their work sooner. Either way, she dropped the hoe over the trapped man's throat, cutting his jugular and ending his screaming. The sickly red blood trickled out of his throat and the woman instantly swooped down to lap it up. The child, having successfully plucked out the eyes, began eating them like they were fresh grapes from a vine. The man managed to tear off the stranger's leg, now that there was no bone or muscle to hold it together. I finally tore my gaze away from the feasting family of Vampires.

That's what I call them. Vampires. Don't laugh. They're not some supernatural being or something controlled by an unknown brain-eating disease. They are human beings, still capable of coherent thinking. It's just that their coherent thinking is used in murdering fellow humans. They do what they need to survive, just like the creatures of legend.

And I guess like vampires they are able to recognize each other. I've noticed they never attack any of their own…well not right away. They seem able to work together for short periods of time, methodically hunting down their target and then wiping them out with precision and teamwork.

One against how many Vampires left in the village. I don't like those odds, so I pray that I'm never spotted. Especially since the only weapon I have is a pocket knife. I don't want to use it on anyone, not even on a Vampire. I'd rather die…

…It's been a whole day since I've left my tent now. Dehydration has finally set in. My mouth is so dry and hot, my tongue numb. Eating doesn't help at all- during breakfast I almost choked on the bread. Jackal isn't feeling any better than I am. I love my faithful pet; until now I used to go out and try and find a cactus for the both of us to drink from. But there aren't enough cacti in the desert to satisfy our thirst or supply us with nourishment…

…I don't know why I keep writing this. I guess it's because I still have hope that man will find a solution to this catastrophe. Or maybe I'm just delusional. It feels like the tent is a sauna, which is saying a lot coming from someone who spent their whole life in the desert. It feels like everything is shimmering constantly, lines always swirling. Perhaps I'm just dizzy. All the time? Moving's becoming a problem. So is breathing. I fear Jackal has it worse; he refuses to even sit up. I feel so sorry for him, trapped in the tent like this…

…Can't go on. Vision wavering. So tired. Jackal gone. Don't remember if he died before or after I slit throat. Didn't drink; just let him out of misery. Too thirsty. So thirsty. But don't want to be a Vampire. Don't want! What's that? Someone outside? There is. Someone found me! Are they a Vampire? No, speaking too coherently. But it could be a trap. Maybe I can get a drink…NO! Don't become a Vampire! Knife! Where's knife? Here, in hand! A quick slit of his…NO! Don't become a Vampire! Don't become–


	14. Don't Ignore Me!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

By the time Egypt finished, several nations were huddled together nowhere near him. "Why is it always the quiet ones with the scariest stories?" shivered a now crept-out Spain.

"Congratulations Egypt- you managed to make half the countries here cry," Seychelles teased.

"I wasn't crying, aru," mumbled China.

"Okay, I'll admit that was a little spooky," Switzerland said, only ever put on edge by the tale, "But in a way I saw what happened coming. At least he managed to survive the longest out of his village because he knew not to get involved with things."

"I didn't see that ending coming at all," Finland wasn't ashamed to admit, "But then, that's what makes it scary I suppose. If we could see the outcome, it wouldn't be as frightening."

"Yes," agreed Canada; America leaped. His brother glowered at him. "You came sitting next to me, remember? How are you surprised by me being here?"

"I-I'm not s-s-surprised," squeaked America, "I j-just…forgot…you w-were here."

"How?"

"I…I don't know. J-just don't leave me, okay?" And he clung himself back onto his twin's arm. Canada sighed loudly.

"You know, it's not fun being ignored by everyone. I'm sure if you experienced what it was like for nobody to see you, you'd be a little more empathetic…"

* * *

**Don't Ignore Me!**

**Based off of "String Theory"  
Credited to: Tesla**

You'd think I'd be the last person in the world to be telling you this considering how often people ignore me. But aren't there times when it feels like you can just make out something moving in the corner of your vision, but when you turn there's nothing there? Or when things happen that you wonder should be happening at all? What do you usually do? Me? I tend to ignore it; after all, it's normally some trick of the light or false memory that's causing the disconcertment.

But what if something you could no longer pass off as being "some trick" happened?

It was a Monday morning at the Academy like any other. I woke up, took a shower, got dressed, ate breakfast, was mistaken for a ghost by my brother and roommate, brushed my teeth, and went to class like I always did. An average day; I really wasn't even looking forward to anything exciting happening. But—and to this day I still have no idea why or how—an idea came to me. I figured why not take the path through the back gardens to get to class. I've always taken the inside route, so I've never seen any of the flowers outside up close; and the trip would be a nice respite from the norm. I went down the oh-so-familiar hallway leading to the classrooms, but when I came to the intersection that split between the hallway and going outside, I made the sharp right.

The moment I stepped on the grass a coldness jolted straight down my spine. Involuntarily I shivered. That was weird. And it was the spring semester, so I couldn't write it off as a chilly breeze. Maybe I was coming down with the flu? Not wanting to be late but still be able to look at the flowers, I briskly walked through the garden. The plants sure were beautiful; I wondered why it never crossed my mind to come here before.

I looked at my watch. I was running late. "Maple! I need to hurry!" I rush to the other end of the garden and walk back into the building. If I wasn't running behind schedule I would have paused to take in the sight before me.

Strings. Everywhere! Hundreds of thin, red lines of thread zigzagged and crisscrossed across the hall; attached to pins nailed into lockers, bulletins, even scattered papers and dropped pens littering the corridor. This had to be some sort of prank I hadn't been informed was being pulled today. No matter. I carefully made my way over and under the threads, careful not to disturb any of them. As I raced to beat the bell to class, I got a look at some of the passersby. They too were tangled in a mass of strings, connected to nearly everything else in the corridor. The ropes lengthened or shortened as they continued down the path the strings provided.

It's at this point I felt left out being the only one without any strings. I shouldn't have felt as disappointed about it considering how often I'm normally left out, but on that day I did.

I reached classroom just too late. The bell had rung, and I made it just in time for the teacher slam the door on me. Rude to say the least. I quietly opened the door. "Um, sorry I'm late, professor. But you didn't need to shut the door on me while I was right there."

The teacher ignored me. He continued to scribble on the clipboard that was tied to his hands. Not sure how to take that response as I sat down. Now I was beginning to get unnerved. None of the other students even acknowledged my tardiness. Heck, even my brother didn't look up from his horrible doodling to greet me as I sat down beside him. Nope- his attention—and hands—were tied to that piece of paper.

"Okay guys, this isn't funny," I whisper just loud enough for those around me to hear me. No one reacted. I punched my brother on the arm. "Quit it!" He didn't so much as flinch as he passed the picture to one of the Vargas brothers. He frowned slightly before telling my brother that there was potential in his drawing.

I was on the verge of freaking out. What in the world was going on? Why was everyone ignoring me more than usual today? I turned to my other friend. "Gilbert, you can see me, right?" But he was too busy twirling the pencil in his hand, entertaining his bird, to so much as spare me a response. I'm not one to normally retaliate when angry, but growing ever impatient with frankly the whole school, I snapped the string connecting Gilbert to the pencil. He immediately dropped it as if suddenly uninterested in it. "Umm…?" I picked up the pencil and waved it in front of his face. No reaction, just kept looking right past it.

"If that's how things are going to be then-" I grabbed all of the strings connecting to Gilbert (and his little pet bird which the teachers, for whatever reason, allowed him to keep) and pulled them, snapping them off of the two. He blinked and then turned to me.

"Holy crap, Williams, when did you get here? The awesome me didn't even see you come in."

"I've been here for several minutes now," at last relieved someone noticed me. I was going to question him about the huge joke everyone was in on except I realized the tone of voice Gilbert used was one of complete surprise. He really _hadn't_ seen me.

"Where the heck did all these strings come from?" So this wasn't a joke; Gilbert was just as confused as I was. He abruptly stood up, an action that should have attracted every single person's attention. "Yo! Teacher? What's up with the strings?" But the professor continued writing the day's lesson on the board. "What in the world is going on?"

"I don't know. I've been ignored practically all morning."

"Well I can't take this. I'm ditching."

"Wait- what?"

"You heard me." And with that he maneuvered his way past the threads and walked out the door. With nothing better to do I followed.

We walked down the corridors, peeking into and sometimes entering the other classrooms. No one ever looked up at us. Whenever we broke one of the threads, it was suddenly as if the item no longer attached mattered anymore. For all intents and purposes it didn't exist.

Gilbert got the brazen idea to walk to the nearby town. Just like at the Academy, here too strings looped and twirled and clung to objects. Twice as many here than back on campus. We were very careful not to disturb any of the strings out of fear there would be mass panic if people suddenly "came to" like Gilbert had or worse.

We went to a nearby shop to rest. Inside, Gilbert grabbed two sandwiches and drinks from the freezer. I was opposed to it, chiding my friend for stealing, but he said it wasn't stealing if they didn't care. We ate quietly, observing the people who walked into the shop. It took us a few minutes to realize that each of the threads had a "path" that we were beginning to understand.

"Look there. That guy is going to order a plain turkey sandwich," Gilbert pointed to the man just walking up to the counter. Just as Gilbert said, the stranger ordered the said food. "He's going to pay for it then leave, nearly dropping his wallet on the way out." Step by step, the man did exactly everything my friend predicted.

I was starting to feel uneasy again as the implications of what we just witnessed began to dawn on me. "Let's go back. I don't feel very well."

We took the long way to school through the forest. Luckily, there weren't nearly as many strings here than in the town. But I guess Gilbert liked messing with the Threads of Fate because he kept plucking a few. Thankfully, the strings he did break were only connecting various plants and not any animals or people. "Please stop that, Gilbert."

"But it's fun," he laughed, plucking one more, "You need to loosen up a bit, like Gilbird here. I'm sure this can't be all ba-" We froze when we heard rustling coming from behind us. We twirled around and gaped.

A tiny white creature, maybe an albino raccoon dog or a bear cub standing on two, was deftly tying back together all the strings Gilbert broke. It wore a small pouch hanging from its side, a trail of red string and nails sticking out. It paused in its work and looked up at us with small brown eyes.

I think all three of us were surprised because none of us moved. Finally, I mustered up my courage and took a step forward. "Hi there, little fella."

It tilted its head to the side. "Who are you?" I told him my name. The creature seemed to shrug before going back to work.

"Why are you tying back all the string?" I asked him.

"It's my job."

"But why?"

"Because."

"Do you need any help?"

"I'm fine. You shouldn't be here."

"I know, but my friend really wanted to skip class and-"

"No, you shouldn't be _here_." I stared at the creature, confusion and worry etched on my face.

"What do you mean?"

"You should be tied down, not free wandering the woods." I didn't like the way that sounded. The discomfort inside me grew.

"H-hey, let's go back, Williams," Gilbert grabbed my wrist and started pulling back to campus. We reached the grounds without further delay. Gilbert insisted we spend the rest of the day in his dorm. I made us some pancakes to calm ourselves, though even the extra layer of syrup didn't sooth my jittery nerves. We waited in his room for several hours, occasionally voicing our concern regarding what would happen if no one ever noticed us again. We didn't stay on those conversations very long, though.

"Well, I'm going to bed," Gilbert said as the sun finally began to set, "You can sleep on the futon Honda gave my Bruder."

"Will that be alright?"

"Ja. He rarely uses it anyways. Well, 'night." And he was under not long after. I got myself comfortable on the mat. Right before I was fully asleep, though, I felt like I could almost hear the soft footsteps of tiny paws.

Tuesday morning rolled around, and I would have ticked off everything that happened as a bad dream if it weren't for the fact I was awoken to Gilbert's brother coming in saying, "Wha- Williams? When did you get here?"

"You can see me?" were the first words I uttered as soon as I got up.

"Ja, I tend to notice people who are in my room without permission." Fortunately, Gilbert was able to vouch for me, and the two of us ate breakfast in his room.

"Hey, you don't look so good. You okay?" I hadn't eaten much of the food Gilbert made. I turned to him and smiled, telling him yes- I was fine and he shouldn't worry.

But truthfully I was terrified. I could no longer see any of the strings. And I was beginning to wonder whether my actions were really my own anymore.


	15. Subliminal Messages

******Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Canada received a hard blow to the back of the head. "OW! What the heck was that for, eh?"

"You. Freaked. Me. OUT!" And America had bolted from his brother's side.

"You didn't have to _hit_ me!"

"Then don't do that!"

"Mr. America, if you want to stop we can-"

"No way, Estonia, keep them coming. We're already like, what, halfway through? No point in stopping now." His quivering body was clearly protesting, but his eyes were strangely shining, and not just because of the glow of the emergency light.

Japan sighed, counting the strips of paper. "Yes, we're at the halfway mark. Who would like to go next?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't," Belarus spoke up. Several nations gulped. She glared at the group. "Don't worry, it's not scary; I'm not into such stories."

"I would have never guessed," Latvia muttered to the other Baltics before listening to Belarus as she started her story.

* * *

**Subliminal Messages**

**Based off of "This is Just a Test"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

The young man jerked awake. He had fallen asleep in front of the television again. It wasn't a usual habit of his, but sometimes, after a long day of work, he'd just doze off while listening to the droning sound of his favorite program. He yawned, stretching a bit in his armchair as he flexed his now stiff muscles. He happened to notice what was on the screen.

It was an emergency broadcast. The Cyrillic letters scrolled across the screen as a woman's voice repeats the message: "This is just a test – This is just a test – This is just a test…" Naturally, the man tuned her out. Ever since the war began the government ordered all broadcasting stations to perform weekly emergency tests; and many people found them annoying.

The young man looked at his wristwatch. It was 3:08 in the morning. He looked to the side of his chair. The huge stacks of paper were still waiting for him to read through them. He groaned quietly. Even though he just woke up he was still too tired to be doing any sort of work. He shifted, once again getting comfortable in his cozy armchair. He let the monotonous tone of the broadcast system lull him back to sleep.

"This is just a test – This is just a test – This is just a test – You are being watched – This is just a test…"


	16. Angels

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

The moment Belarus uttered her last sentence there was a collective sigh in the air. Furiously, she glanced around. "What is with all of you?"

"Your story- it wasn't scary at all," South Korea laughed in relief. The Belarusian glared daggers at him.

"I told you it wasn't."

"Yeah but even _I'm_ not creeped out," the American chuckled.

"Which is saying something," snickered France.

"I said I wasn't into such stories; it doesn't mean I don't know any. Do you want me to tell a creepier one?" Everyone paused.

"Is it about how you plan to make Russia yours?" Denmark teased, "If so, we already know how terrifying that's going to be." There was an uproar of laughter as Belarus shot out of her seat and lunged at the Dane. As with before, there was a chase about the room.

"Way to be subtle, my friend," Spain couldn't help but laugh.

"As if you know about subtlety," smirked England.

Spain gave him a confused look. "¿Qué? I know all about being secretive."

"Really? You?" Romano joined in on the joke.

"Sí."

"Prove it."

Spain opened his mouth to say something, paused, then closed it and stood up. Completely ignoring the two still running around, he went to the table and grabbed a pen and paper. He returned to his seat and scribbled something down with France and Prussia peering over his shoulder. Spain then handed the paper to Britain. "Read it out loud," he instructed.

Britain did so, trying his best to make out the words in the dark…

* * *

**Angels**

**Based off of "The Message"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

It's not every day I get to come here and talk to you. God has strict rules about allowing us angels to simply communicate with His creations, but it is an honor when we get to. It's much more rewarding interacting with you in person than watching helplessly from above. Even so, I know why it's like this.

Right then, down to business– I'm here on a mission. I'm sure you've heard the tales where God sends down His most trusted messengers to deliver news to mankind. Well, those stories would be true. Oh the joy it brings us to pass on His Word to the earth, to hold out our shield against Hell's most unimaginable monstrosities. But it's not all fun and games.

Behind every mission is a secret– we're not allowed to tell you directly the message. With the exception of a few people throughout time, we angels always spoke to you in cryptic messages. We're afraid uncensored foretellings will cause the demons of the world to strike – after all, they prefer to do their sinister deeds in secret, in the dark, when no one's around to stop them. So we angels strive to inform you of the dangers the best we can without causing any suspicion. Which reminds me– I have a message for you:

You might want to read the first word of each paragraph now.


	17. Follow These Instructions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"It's…right…behind…" England slowly turned around.

"YOU!" France pounced on the Englishman, knocking him to the floor. Spain and Prussia were hooting with laughter again.

"Get off me you disgusting frog!" Britain yelled as he struggled to get out of France's embrace. Now with two quarrelling groups, Germany was having a tough time keeping order in the room.

"You just had to listen to him," grinned an amused America.

"Don't think you're safe either," Prussia flashed a devilish smile, and he too leapt at America, pinning him down and beginning to tickle him. "Nobody's safe from the 'monsters' of the night!"

"More like 'lechers'." Austria didn't try to hide his contempt as the American squirmed to get away from the silver-haired man.

"Ah, well that's what you get for listening to those three," Turkey chided lightly, "Now if it were somebody else, I'd take their words more to heart."

"…I'd never take…anything you'd say…to heart." Turkey had to keep himself from stomping over and strangling the slowly dozing off Greek man.

"Well you'd better, if you know what's good for you. Don't you know your seniors give advice for a reason? But if you don't want to hear my warning, that's fine with me. Don't come crawling back to me when it happens."

"When what happens?" asked Finland curiously. Turkey grinned.

"Oh, well– here, I'll tell ya'…"

* * *

**Follow These Instructions**

**Based off of "Don't Open Your Eyes"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Here is something you must always remember: on the last day of every month, you must close your blinds or curtains before you go to bed. Then try to go to sleep as quickly as possible. If you are unable to, sometime during the night you may hear a tapping noise on your window. Whatever you do, do not open your eyes.

If you get unlucky, you will soon hear what will sound like a pebble or small rock being tossed against your window. That is not a friend trying to get you up, so keep your eyes shut. The noise will grow louder and louder, faster and faster. You may begin to wonder if anyone else in the house can hear the noise. Don't think that! You may be tempted to open your eyes.

The tapping will then escalate to a thumping sound. Do not let your curiosity get the better of you – the cat died for a reason. Be as perfectly still as possible; feign sleep if you must. Perhaps it will grow impatient and leave. If not, it will begin pounding on your window. Trust me, the glass _will not_ break, but for heaven's sake, DO _NOT_ OPEN YOUR EYES to check! No matter how scared you may get, no matter how much you may want to scream – no, whimper – don't make a noise. Don't move.

After a while, the noise will abruptly stop. Do not be fooled and keep your eyes tightly shut. It is during this interval you really should try to get to sleep. Do not even think about cracking an eye open until you can see the first rays of sun through your lids. Don't wait for the birds' call to signal morning; don't wait for your dog barking either. The sun has to be up. Only then will you know you survived through the night.

Of those who _do_ open their eyes…well, I don't know anyone _living_ who's able to recount the tale.


	18. Seeing is Believing

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"Hm…I'd still…rather take my chances…with it…"

Turkey sputtered angrily at the Grecian, but before he could stand Greece finally gave in to sleep. His soft snoring soon filled the room.

"I'm glad one of us is still capable of falling asleep at a time like this," Japan chuckled lightly. He pulled yet another slip of paper. "Funny how fast time seems to be going with us all together like this."

Switzerland looked at his wristwatch. "Indeed so. It's already very early morning in this time zone. We should all be in bed."

"Ah, but this is so much fun!" South Korea said with a grin and bouncing in his seat, "I can't believe we never thought of doing something like this sooner."

"Settle down," China reprimanded, "You're always acting so childish during meetings; there's no reason to be this excited."

"That's because childishness originated in me! Without me you guys would all forget and stay blind."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Japan gave his neighbor a skeptical look. "You're making no sense." South Korea grinned again, at last sitting still.

* * *

**Seeing Is Believing**

**Based off of "A Child's Eyes"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

I'm sure you know about it. Or maybe you've even seen it. How every little kid has some sort of "darkness" fear. You know– how there are some who are scared of the creatures under their bed, or some who are terrified of closets at night, or even the few who are afraid of that crack of an almost shut door.

Now people may say I act childishly—and that may be true—but I don't think they fully realize what they are saying. Children are…different than the rest of society. There's scientific evidence showing that kids are far more perceptive of the supernatural than any other stage in the human life cycle. They notice things adults can't because they haven't yet been grounded into accepting the rules of society. But they see the truth.

They see the monsters.

If you were able to once again see through the eyes of a young child (like me), I bet you'd go insane. You'd remember why you spent all those nights underneath the covers. You'd remember all those times you wanted to sleep next to your parents, hoping their presence would chase away the ghouls. You'd probably wonder how you even made it through those early years.

Or maybe you can remember now. Do you remember those "established" rules you made? Every child followed them, whether they wanted to admit it or not:

1. If you hear a strange noise at night, cover yourself. If you can't see it, it can't see you. Breathing is more difficult, and you get hot really fast, but you reason it is always better than the alternative.

2. Don't make a noise. You always run the risk of it being able to hear you and find you in the dark.

3. Don't move. If it thinks you are asleep, it will leave. Usually.

4. Only bright and flooding light will make it go away. Certain light sources, like flashlights, only make seeing it worse.

5. Assuming it isn't under your bed, only ever look at the place you fear the monster is hiding while you're under the covers. If it sees that you are looking at it, it will strike.

Unfortunately, teenagers like me are sorta stuck. Many of us are too old to still believe in such things, having forgotten most of the rules and can no longer see them. But we know they're there, and we always just delude ourselves into thinking otherwise, the lie becoming easier and easier to accept as we age.

But I never forgot. I can still "see". I wonder why I never chose to grow up. Is it that I still want to see what others cannot? Or is it I just want to witness what it is that will one night snatch me up in the darkness? Oh– have I accidently returned to you your "sight"? I'm sorry- I didn't mean to make you to be able to see again. I just wanted to tell you my story.

But now that you have it, you probably want to be wary of the dark once more.


	19. Cauchemar

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

China stared at the younger Asian country. "Now I don't know what to think of you."

"How about the Originator of Everything?"

"No, aru."

"You know, I've always thought about having a kid, but now I'm not too sure," Hungary said thoughtfully, "I wouldn't want them to see things no one else could and be frightened because of it."

"But I'm sure kids would bring a lot of joy to your life," Russia smiled, "Just ask Britain."

"Yes. Joy," growled the Englishman sarcastically, glaring particularly at America.

"Ah, just to hear their sweet voices full of purity and innocence," sighed France before chuckling and wrapping an arm around Canada's shoulder, "You know, I really miss the days when you were my cute petite colony."

"My bro didn't stay with you for very long." America was quick to remind him.

"And good thing. We don't need two perverts running around the place."

"Switzerland, you wound me." He feigned being struck in the chest. "But joking aside, as adorable as they are, I'm sure none of you can deny that kids have a creepy affinity for not reading the atmosphere. And I'm not talking about with like Italy or America; I mean when they speak, it is in naivety- not stupidity. Sometimes I have to wonder just how far they can go before their words cause trouble."

"Wow, that's actually rather profound of you, France," England was genuinely impressed, even if he didn't show it, "But care to explain exactly when whatever a child says can cause harm?"

"Well, if you insist…"

* * *

**Cauchemar – **_**Nightmare**_

**Based off of "The Bad Dream"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

"Papa?"

You tiredly blink your eyes open. For a moment you wonder if it's the breeze from the open window that woke you up before you see the silhouette of your son standing in the doorframe, clutching his toy bear closely. You glance at the clock. Its red luminous glow easily allows you to read the time– it's 2:37 in the morning. You prop yourself up on one elbow.

"Oh mon petit Matthieu, what is the matter?"

Matthieu stands hesitantly by the doorway of your bedroom, unwilling to come in. "I had a bad dream."

"Would you like to sleep with me tonight? You can tell me all about it if you wish." You chuckle softly as you say this. Normally everyone would make a comment of how lewd you were acting– especially toward a child– for saying such a thing. They would say you were being a perverted old man. But even you had limits; and besides, it was only a natural desire to be close to your child when they were scared.

But your son doesn't approach you. "No, papa."

You sit up a little straighter. It was rare for your son to ever give up the chance to sleep with you (in the nonsexual sense, or course!). You can just make out his shaking form in the darkness. How terrifying was this nightmare?

"Pourquoi non mon cher? Why not?"

Matthieu gulps. "B-b-because in my dream, w-when I told you about my dream, th-the person sleeping next to you sat up."

For the longest second in your life, you stare frightfully at your child, petrified. That's when you realize you never invited anyone else to sleep with you tonight.

Nor did you leave the window open before you went to bed.

The covers next to you begin to shift…


	20. Night Games

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Nearly all of the nations stared wide-eyed at France. "Bugger, the frog actually had a pretty scary story," England was a little ashen by the tale. He was too stunned by the Frenchmen to try and get both of the North American brothers off of him.

"Italy, let go for the last time!" Germany tried to pry a trembling Italian off his arm yet again.

"Please don't!" wailed the Italian, clinging even tighter.

"I'm impressed," the Netherlands said to France, "Almost as scary as Germany's if I do say so." France shrugged.

"I aim to please."

"I don't think any of us can top that," smiled Ukraine.

"Then let me give it a go." No one was surprised by England wanting to take up the challenge. "I've got a tale that'll put France's to shame."

"You think you can beat my story?" taunted the Frenchman.

"Anyone could beat your story. And I'll prove it…"

* * *

**Night Games**

**Based off of "Bunk Bed"  
Credited to: Cockney Pasta**

"You know no one will ever come for you."

He said that every single night as I wrapped myself even tighter in the thin sheets. I could never block out his expression of love for me, the torturous words he replayed each night as I struggled to fall asleep. _Each_ night. I don't know any other sick, sadistic person who finds amusement in emotionally scarring their siblings other than my brother. Apparently he found it all hilarious.

Of all my brothers, why did it have to be him? I feel as if he's been doing it all my life, but my earliest memory is when I was perhaps three years in age. When it was bedtime, my mother would pick me up and tuck me into bed. I slept in a bunk bed, in the same room where my three older brothers slept. The oldest two had already moved out, but our parents kept their beds in the room for whenever they came to visit. At least they got single beds; I had to sleep on the bottom of the only bunk bed.

Mother would always kiss me on the head before whispering a soft prayer for me to have pleasant dream. She would turn off the light and leave the room, gently closing the bedroom door behind her. I would try to go to sleep soon after, and most times I did. But no more than an hour after she left I would always hear the springs of the upper bunk squeak and groan. I would then pull the covers over my head. I knew my brother was about to begin his cruel game once again.

"You'll be all alone, and no one will ever be able to find you~!" His shrill childlike voice would pierce through my covers and reach my ears as I shivered and tried my best to ignore him. "They can't save you as I take you to the other place. And then I'll leave you there and you'd be doubly alone. Wouldn't you ever love that?"

"Please stop," I would whisper. I still don't know if he couldn't hear me or simply ignored my pleas.

"I'd have to break your legs so that you'd never be able to leave. It's not nearly as much fun if you leave. Do you know how much a broken bone hurts? It's like living in agony, I hear. And that's just one bone. I plan to break all of them."

And then he would go into detail of how he would detain me in this dark, unknown place where nothing awaited me but loneliness and torture brought on only by him. Tears would always fall down my cheeks as his forms of punishment always grew more and more gruesome.

This is his game.

This is his love.

I hate him so much.

The only reason I slept underneath my brother was because I was too afraid to see him if I slept in either of the other beds. Between having my tormentor hidden above me or hovering over me while I sleep, I'd rather choose the former. Sadly, I no longer have such an option.

I don't sleep in a bunk bed anymore. In fact, there was no need for it to begin with. While I have three brothers, only the two oldest are living; the other one died before he was even born. We weren't twins, but we were to be born relatively close together, no more than a year apart. I never really asked my parents much about him. I knew it was a very sensitive subject even when I was a tyke, and, well, it's rarely ever spoken about in the house nowadays. When it is, you can bet the tears start flowing from both my parents' eyes.

I sigh, grabbing the bottle of sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I've been living on my own now for a couple years, having graduated from university. I have my own little flat now, not to mention a good job.

And, of course, my brother.

I swallow three pills—the third as an afterthought—with a glass of water before I tiredly walk back to my room. My brother's already standing by the bed, an evil grin on his face as he's ready to begin his sick, loving game once again. And I hate to admit it but it really has become something of the sort.

One of these days I will find a way so that his words cannot reach me and I can finally be able to sleep.


	21. Goodnight, Sleep Tight

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

The room was split: half of the nations were huddled together and the other half was, well, unimpressed by the story.

"Like any of us needed sleep anyways," Denmark half-joked.

"I was sort of hoping to be able to," Latvia whimpered.

"What are you so afraid of?" huffed Belarus, "That wasn't scary in the slightest."

"What?" England looked shocked, "Who asked you anyway?"

"Waaah! Now I won't be able to go to sleep tonight!" cried Italy.

"Stop with the wailing; you're annoying me," Romano growled at his brother. Spain went over and rubbed his hair.

"Ohhh, be nice to little Ita. As his big brother, you should be trying to comfort him."

"Get away from me!" Romano pulled himself out of Spain's reach, "I don't need any comfort! Besides–" and he smirked menacingly at his brother "–why should he want to sleep? We all just heard the stories of what happens at night."

"R-R-R-Roma-n-n-o-o-o!" Italy was literally in tears, "I d-d-don't w-want to hea-r-r-r any-!" Hardly anyone could understand his stuttering.

"Fine, I won't try to stop you from going to sleep," Romano rolled his eyes, looking away from his twin. Italy noticeably relaxed a tiny bit.

"Th-thanks f-fratello."

"But I think it's only fair if I warn you what you're getting into…"

* * *

**Goodnight, Sleep Tight**

**Based off of "Sibilance"  
Credited to: bez00mny**

It's strange how everyone thinks sleep is the best form of refuge for a sufferer. You don't even know why people think that– sleep is the domain of your subconscious self; you know, that mysterious, unknown half of your very being. You never know what it is thinking even though it _is_ you. It has the power to take total control of all your senses. It can show you things your conscious self could never imagine. It can invade your mind, distort your dreams, stop your heart, or cast you an illness before you even begin to notice what is happening to you. And it can do all this and more without your knowledge.

And that terrifies you enough to keep you awake.

Whoever created this being—whether it be a higher power or just how evolution works—they certainly didn't take into consideration your dark half's lust for dominance. The monster inside you is most definitely the dark half, you reason. That's why criminals and the mentally insane don't give a second thought as to what they do– they are merely victimized poor souls who let their subconscious reign.

It's a good thing that sleep is the only time you need to really worry about the other self taking over. It may be able to give you nightmares, it may torment you by raising your body temperature or making you sweat underneath the covers as you twist and turn in your sleep, but even it is aware that you are still the dominate one. That's why it does it to you. It's trying to break you down so it can take control of the body. It's tired of having to stay locked away; it's its turn to run free and do whatever it wants. But you know once it does, it will do very, very horrible things.

As you lay in your bed, debating whether or not to go to sleep, you hear a loud _BOM!_ that makes you jump in fright. For a split second, pure terror grips your heart, then the logical side of your conscious tells you it was only the drying machine you left on. You calm down, even manage a nervous chuckle, before you walk over to your light switch and flip it off.

You climb into the bed, ready for whatever pleasant dreams may come your way when a prickling sensation crawls up your arm. It feels like hundreds of little spiders are tap-dancing over your skin. Almost without a second thought, locking your common sense in a cage of constructed fear, you bolt upright and scrape your hand across your entire arm. The darkness further helps magnify your fright for you cannot see anything but can swear they are there. You let the feeling of nothing but your bare skin float around in your head before you realize you are just being paranoid.

You timidly chide yourself for being such a scaredy-cat before pulling the blankets back over your body. Just as you lay your head back on the pillow, you feel something light and fluttery gently graze over your forehead. You immediately bring your arm up and rub the spot. It was just a strand of hair. You're panicking over nothing!

Now growing impatient with yourself, you turn over in your bed. You are not going to fall for any of your dark half's tricks. You are going to let it know it no longer bothers you, and that its "games" are trivial and mean absolutely nothing to you. You are not going to show it just how vulnerable it has made you become and how much you wish it would stop.

…

…

…

Oh, I am going to have fun with you tonight.


	22. Eyes For Only You

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Germanyyyyyy!" Italy was once _again_ grasping onto his friend for dear life.

"FOR THE LOVE OF-!" The German was growing very tired of this. "Grow up, Italy! They are just _stories_!"

"Mind telling that to him too?" Seychelles pointed to America, who was cowering under the meeting table much like a scared puppy during a thunderstorm. Lithuania had to crawl over and try to coax him out.

"Aww, there there Italy," Hungary said in a motherly tone, "Did that scare you?"

"Whatever gave that away?" sneered Turkey under his breath. Hungary ignored him.

"Why don't you come here and get away from your brother?" Italy did so, making his way over like a child just wanting comfort from a parent. Hungary bent him forward so that his head was leaning against her shoulder. She began to pet him. Austria raised a brow.

"You know you shouldn't be cuddling him. Italy's a grown man; he doesn't need to be babied."

"I know, but just for tonight I think he literally needs a shoulder to lean on." She giggled happily. "I guess you could call it motherly love but I can't help but fret over the ones I care about…"

* * *

**Eyes for Only You**

**Based off of "Call Me Tomorrow, Okay?"  
Credited to: Boudica**

Weird. Still no new messages on my voice mail.

Maybe I was being too forward. In that case, it's no wonder he's not calling me back, and I don't blame him.

I fell in love with him long before he knew of me. When I first saw him, I was smitten by the sheen of his lovely brown hair, the seriousness behind those handsome violet eyes…the warmth of his lovely smile. Oh how I'd die right now just to see him smile at me like that. He moved with the grace of royalty. Perhaps he is one. I don't know; but to me, he will always be my Prince Charming.

Still no answer. I thought about calling him to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I'm afraid I may have greatly upset him and now he is ignoring me. But he promised me he'd think about what I said and call me sometime this week. It's only been one day; maybe I should just be a little more patient.

I guess I could just walk by his house and see if he's home. No harm there, right? And if he's out, that would explain why he's not answering.

He's only a few minutes' stroll from my house. I can't help but think as I walk there. Is he shy about speaking with me? He shouldn't be. I may be described as tomboyish and a little eccentric, but I'm really just a good girl.

I reach his house. His light is off, but that means absolutely nothing considering the time it is. I peek inside.

Oh, the poor guy. He must be exhausted. He's lying on the bed in the same position he was in last time. He didn't even bother to pull the covers back over himself this time either. I hear studying music is not as easy as many take it to be. He must have forgotten to call as tired as he is.

I know it's not exactly polite to invite myself over but I think he just needs someone by his side until he wakes up. It's not easy opening the window but practice always pays off in the long run and it's not long before I'm sitting on the edge of his bed, petting away the bangs hanging over his soft, angelic face. My heart skips a beat as I feel the smoothness of his face. To be this knocked out unable to feel my touch…I wonder what he has gone through.

I look at his resting eyes. They are closed, and a part of me is torn, wondering if it's best they remain that way or if they should open so that he knows that I am here comforting him. I lightly kiss his forehead.

I am about to pull the covers over him when an idea comes to mind. Moving silently but quickly, I remove all but my undergarments off of my person. Since I don't know when he'll be waking, I might as well just stay the night. His parents are out of town and mine never bothered setting a curfew. I easily slide the blanket over us and I snuggle up next to him, not even caring he is still in his day clothes. He doesn't stir an inch. I'll admit, this isn't the first time I've slept with him like this; I did the same thing just last night. But I am too scared to let him know I'm here.

I smile as I turn and watch him; his chest rising and falling ever so slightly as he breathes.

Perhaps I should formally introduce myself to him once he wakes up.


	23. Fight for What You Believe In

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

As Hungary continued to pat Italy, Austria, as inconspicuously as he could, scooted himself ever so slightly away from the brunette.

"That was a great story," Italy beamed up at Hungary, evidently oblivious to the hidden meaning. Hungary smiled.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Hey, that wasn't too scary," America finally came out from his hiding spot looking a bit relieved. Several nations groaned. He didn't get it either.

"Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Hm? What for, Lithuania? I thought it was pretty obvious- the narrator wanted to keep her friend company."

"No, that's not entirely it-"

"Just let him think that," yawned Prussia, "It's not like it makes much of a difference."

"But then that changes the meaning of the story," Australia pointed out.

"So what? Maybe he doesn't get it because he wants a story where the action is told up front."

"Well he shouldn't," frowned China, "He'll be missing out on some of the better stories if he thinks that way, aru."

"True but I'm sure even he prefers action stories over these lame ones."

"I'm right here," America waved at them, trying not to be ignored. Prussia unexpectedly turned to him, causing America to flinch.

"How about I tell you an awesome tale with none of this thinking crap? A plot that gets from Point A to B with no problem."

"U-um…sure?" America wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to hear the story now.

"Okay, so it goes like this…"

* * *

**Fight for What You Believe In**

**Based off of "The German Medic"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

It was the middle of winter during World War II, and the German company's only medical team—which consisted of a doctor-in-training and his mentor—were near completely out of plasma, bandages, and antiseptic. The latest battle had been a fierce one; all of the soldiers that came back were missing some sort of body part. For the lucky ones that would be an ear or a finger at most. For the unlucky it was generally an entire arm or leg. It wasn't long after their return the camp soon turned into a swamp of blood.

"This sucks!" apprentice Beilschmidt complained as he escorted the tenth patient of the day out of the medical tent. His mentor's only acknowledgment to the outburst was a curt nod of the head as he looked over the papers. "We've got no supplies other than the limited amount of crap given to us before the start of the war. When will the shipments come in? It's hard seeing all these men here unable to get treatment." Beilschmidt's face fell slightly. "Maybe we should just give up."

The snap of the clipboard caused the apprentice look up at the much older doctor. "No! We shall never give up. We are doctors, and it is our duty to provide for our patients. We will go as far as we need to to help them."

"But how can we? We've got nothing to use!"

"There is always a way. You just need to learn to be resourceful." Beilschmidt felt that old sense of pride well up inside him. This was why he respected and chose to study with the old man; to him, there was nothing that was impossible. The old coot was an awesome one indeed.

"Get some sleep. I know you must be tired. I shall take care of the rest."

"You're tired too. Let me help you."

"No, but thank you. You are merely an apprentice learning the basics. You shouldn't have to exhaust yourself just yet." The doctor smiled warmly. "I will be okay."

Beilschmidt gave a small smile but obeyed his teacher and exited the tent just as another patient walked in. He trudged to his tent, desperate to find a way to help the man. He laid down on his cot, still trying to figure out a way to assist his mentor.

The moaning would not end. It was so late into the night that the doctor had to close the medical tent and inform everyone that he will make rounds while they were asleep so as not to disturb the men trying to rest. The apprentice could hear many of the soldiers groan as they waited for the doctor to reach their section of the camp. That's it! He wasn't just going to sit still and do nothing! Beilschmidt snuck out of his tent and crept over to the medical tent. He grabbed a few bandages and a pair of scissors before sneaking out.

Beilschmidt made his own rounds, tending to the soldiers at his end of the camp while his mentor administered the other end. Unfortunately, there was nothing Beilschmidt could do for those who needed a transfusion. They would have to wait until morning. The apprentice had to continually go back to the medical tent to steal more supplies, but each time he visited he was surprised by the amount of bandages that still remained. Between him and his mentor, they should have run out long ago.

Morning came with the sound of several soldiers screaming. The apprentice's eyes bolted open, having finally fallen asleep an hour ago. He raced outside to see what the problem was. "What happened?"

Several of the soldiers woke to the discovery that their bandages weren't typical bandages. They were instead hunks of human skin. The soldiers were also covered from head to toe with blood– and not by the blood coating the ground outside. It was a good thing Beilschmidt hadn't eaten anything yet or he would have lost his breakfast. After the feeling of nausea subsided, a curious observation came into focus. Not all of the tended soldiers had wrappings made of flesh or had bloodstains covering their fronts. They were only those tended to by the doctor.

The apprentice rushed to his mentor's tent and covered his mouth in horror.

The doctor was in his tent—sitting on an ammunition tin—staring into space with eyes glazed over. Beilschmidt walked over, tentatively tapping his mentor on the shoulder. The doctor's tunic, disturbed, fell off, revealing large spots all over his body where skin, muscle, even sinew had been surgically stripped from his body, which was almost pale white due to the lack of blood. In one of his hands was a scalpel; in the other there was a small transfusion vial.

The doctor said he would go as far as he needed to in order to help them.

Beilschmidt never could see past the morning his company was forced to disband.


	24. Cat and Mouse

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Why am I not surprised something like that would be your creepypasta." Austria shook his head.

"Hey! It was much awesomer than yours!" Prussia retaliated angrily. "You agree with me, right America?"

"If by 'better' you mean making me want to throw up, then yeah dude, yours was totally better."

"See? He agrees with me."

"That's enough," Germany interrupted. He looked over at Japan. "Please tell me we're almost done with this."

"Almost," Japan counted the strips in his hand, "Only a handful of us have yet to go."

"Good. I don't think I can take much more of this."

"Oh? Are you scared?" the Russian grinned playfully at the man.

"N-nein. I'm just tired of doing this; it's just pointless."

"I hate to admit it but I agree with him," Switzerland said, leaning back, "We're accomplishing nothing with this but wasting time. We should have been actually holding another meeting than telling pointless stories."

"Not pointless," Denmark spoke up, "…Okay, a few were, but I find them interesting. Think of them as…you know…what are those stories that teach a lesson?…It begins with that letter, rhymes with a furniture…"

"F'bles?" Sweden supplied.

"Yeah! That's it!" Denmark grinned. "Take from them what you want, but I think a few frights are worth the message at the end…"

* * *

**Cat and Mouse**

**Based off of "Left"  
Credited to: Lavasharks**

It was waaaay too early in the morning for this. Mathias was just recovering from his drunk-induced hangover, swearing to never again go on another drinking spree while his brothers were gone, when he heard a _thump!_ It took all his effort to sit up. What time was it? What did it matter? He looked around like an idiot. The party he and his two friends held left the room almost in shambles. Boy was he going to get a scolding when his family returned.

Another _thump!_ Mathias shook his head, trying to shake the dizziness away. Had his friends not gone home yet? Was Gil still in the kitchen? Stumbling as he stood, Mathias made his way to his bedroom. Whatever his friend was doing, he was noisy. As Mathias was about to climb into his bed, he noticed a piece of paper on his dresser. The message was written in very sloppy handwriting, but somehow the Dane was able to make it out: "Awesome party, Matt! Al and I left early so you could clean up 'fore your bros come back. Have fun." That was it- next time those two came over he was going to strangle them for leaving him with the mess.

Mathias frowned as he heard the third _thump!_ If his friends had already left…then who was downstairs? Moving quickly, the blond man took long strides to his closet, pulling out his axe from within. Carefree he may be but that did not mean he took his security lightly. He tip-toed downstairs. A silent curse escaped his lips as the second stair from the bottom creaked under his weight. There was suddenly a much louder rustling noise in the kitchen. Someone was definitely there. Mathias didn't even register holding his breath as he ever so slowly peeked around the corner.

There was nothing but darkness inside the kitchen. Hesitating for a minute, Mathias took a step inside. He couldn't see anyone nor make out any shadows. But he was certain the noise came from the kitchen. The man carefully moved his way through the kitchen. "Pokkers!" he swore as he crashed into an open drawer, disturbing the cutlery inside. Why was this even open?

Suddenly, there was a tumbling noise coming from the hallway connecting to the kitchen. Scooting past the drawer, Mathias chased after the noise. Upon reaching the hallway, he saw one of the paintings on the wall knocked crooked but no perpetrator. A scuffle coming from the foyer. A dash into the next room but still no body seen. Something bumped in the parlour room. This was starting to turn into a game of Cat and Mouse!

Mathias had no choice but to continue to follow blindly after the mysterious intruder. The only comfort he had in this chase was that his pursuee had no idea he was heading toward a dead end and that he himself was defended with an axe.

"You got nowhere to run!" Mathias shouted once he saw a shadow dart into the guest room that had no further exits. Right as he approached the door, he heard a swishing noise, followed by a glint of metal and a sting across his shoulder. Out of reflex, he swung his weapon. He just missed the intruder and the blade connected with the wall; the latter took the opportunity to push past the stunned Danish man and into another room. Mathias managed to pull his axe out just as he heard a loud _CRASH!_ back in the kitchen. He raced there, turning on the light switch as he entered.

It was a mess. Nothing but drawers open and cooking utensils littered the floor. The window was broken; no glass inside the room so that must mean the intruder jumped through it to escape.

"I cannot believe you managed to total an entire house while drunk." Mathias's brothers had returned to find their home almost in ruins the following morning. Now they were all pitching in to clean up. Lukas was in the guest room helping Mathias sweep. "And you even used your axe? You're nothing short of moron." He was gazing at the large gash the weapon had made against the wall.

"But I told you- there was an intruder in the house," Mathias repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, "I was simply defending our turf."

"Then you could have found another way, not that I believe you," huffed the man as he went into the kitchen to throw away the trash. Mathias trailed him. "You three left an unbelievable mess. Next time you want to invite Al and Gil, do yourself a favor and don't." Mathias frowned as he watched Emil try to jam the drawer he bumped into back into place.

"Why not? Sure we may have overdone it with the drinking, but they didn't do anything wrong." Lukas didn't say anything and left.

"I think one of your friends stole a few of our utensils," Emil said out loud, "A couple are missing."

"Yeah, yeah- I'll call them later and ask for them to return it," sighed Mathias, taking a seat in a chair. "You know, I guess I should be lucky I woke up when I did. Who knows what would have happened if that guy found me passed out on the floor. I could be dead right now."

"Could be," his brother said with absolutely no emotion in his voice.

"I just wish I got a good look at the guy."

Emil paused in his work. "You mean to say you don't know who this guy is or what he was doing here?"

Mathias looked up and shook his head.

"But he knows enough about you to know when to sneak in while you were passed out on the floor? And now the layout of the house since you chased him all over the place? And that you carry an axe?"

"Yeah? What are you getting at?"

"This person clearly knows a lot about you. You may have an unknown enemy."

"So? I chased him away."

"But what is to stop him from coming back?"


	25. The Old Mirror

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"So what's the lesson?" Italy wondered.

"Come on, you mean it wasn't obvious?" Denmark frowned. The Italian shook his head. The Dane sighed. "Do I need to spell it out for you– always carry an axe with you!"

"_That's not the lesson!_" almost everyone else shouted. Denmark blinked in surprise.

"What? Really? That's what I always got out of it."

"Listen to the story again…" Egypt suggested.

"But you can't argue that people really get defensive when someone enters their home without permission," said Turkey, "I think we've heard a couple stories now like that."

"I believe any sane person would panic if a stranger was in their home," reasoned Japan, "When the unexpected happens, it can greatly affect the human psyche. There are other factors that play into as well such as the mentality of the person, the surroundings, even the time of day-"

"Of course nobody _ever_ expects _any_thing to happen at night," laughed Prussia.

"I'll say," voiced Finland, completely missing the sarcasm, "If something really did happen to me late at night, I'd freak."

"Y'u w'ld?" Sweden looked at him, concerned. Finland nodded, shivering just a bit at the thought of it.

"Yeah I would. I probably wouldn't even be able to go to sleep for a long while…"

* * *

**The Old Mirror**

**Based off of "In the Mirror"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Tino couldn't fall asleep. The thunderstorm that had gathered outside stirred him awake, and now he was having trouble going back to sleep. Normally this wasn't a problem, but for some reason he just couldn't do it tonight. So he lay in his bed, his eyes open and constantly trying to readjust to the darkness every time lightning struck. They moved over the room, spotting various objects: door, dresser, chair, picture frame, mirror…

Tino paused at the mirror hanging on the wall adjacent to him. It was an old mirror he bought some time ago but couldn't remember where. From time to time he'd use it, but more often than not it was just a piece of wall decoration that he liked.

There was a flash of lightning and two things happened almost simultaneously: first Tino gave a yelp of fright, then he accidentally tumbled backward out of his bed. In the mirror he could swear that there was the silhouette of a face just staring intently at him.

Then it was over. Tino scrambled to get back in his bed, wondering if what he saw was real. Now he really wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. The next morning he examined the mirror. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it- no scratches or marks of any kind. Still, he didn't want to take any chances.

Tino unhooked the mirror from the wall and put it outside for the trash removal to dispose of it. Even if what he saw was just a trick of the light, he wanted to be rid of the creepy thing.

Several weeks passed by uneventfully, and Tino had virtually forgotten the incident. One night, while spending the evening at one of his friends' house, he needed to use the bathroom. He quietly made his way to the restroom and did his business. As he was washing his hands he noticed the steam collecting on the mirror. As it thickened, words began to form in the areas inexplicably not being coated in moisture, as if someone used their finger to leave the message:

"Could you please return the mirror? I miss watching you sleep at night."


	26. It's Only Big Brother

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Sweden rubbed Finland's back, possibly trying to make him feel more comfortable. "Th're, th're."

"Wow– more stories about living with a stalker and not even knowing it," laughed Spain, "I wonder how I'd ever be able to sleep if I found out I had one."

"Sometimes I wonder the same thing," mused Russia.

"Not all stalkers are bad," Hungary voiced, "With the exception of France, I'd find it sort of flattering if I had someone always looking after me."

"Oh yes, someone who cares about me enough to always want to be with me," smiled Ukraine.

"You people are weird," the Netherlands replied nonchalantly.

"I agree," said Switzerland, "Who would ever support a sneak? Be forward with it; if you love someone, show it, or at least let them know. You can't really go wrong with that, I think. Now there might be a limit to how far you need to go…"

* * *

**It's Only Big Brother**

**Based off of "Fables"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Little Lili slowly opened her eyes, her vision gradually adjusting to the darkness. The clock on her bedside glowed a cherry-red 00:15. Something shadowy loomed over her, its form bent over as if pulling at the covers. Lili flinched, recoiling back a bit in her bed. "W-w-who are you?" The figure paused, looking her in the face. Immediately, Lili relaxed, feeling reassured. It was only her big brother.

"Oh, big brother," the girl smiled in the darkness before wondering if her brother could see. He seemed able to because he silently nodded. He walked over to her dresser.

"Did you make this?"

His voice was so familiar to her ears, but it's been so long since she heard it she couldn't stop herself from gasping when her brother spoke. "Yes, I did. It's for you. Do you like it?"

"…It's pretty." Lili blushed, quietly overjoyed by her brother's approval of the soft green nightgown lying on the dresser.

It wasn't long after that her brother started asking much more general questions such as how has her day been and how living with her cousins was turning out. He swore if they were making her unhappy he'd go downstairs right now and make sure they and his pistol had a short 'chat'. "Oh, no, they're treating me very well!" the little sister assured, knowing full well her brother could carry out his threat. The older sibling grunted in response before taking a seat on the edge of her bed. He began telling her fantastic stories, some Lili had heard as a child and some that were new and made her eyes wide with delight. It didn't matter it was now 1:58 in the morning. She loved when he told her stories like this. Oh how she missed the old days.

"Big brother, when can I go outside again?" The question was innocent enough, but her brother didn't respond right away. Instead, he held her close to his chest in a very protective manner. Lili could almost hear a faint growl from his throat and see him bare his teeth slightly.

"Not yet. But I promise very soon. Then we can go and enjoy the scenery like we used to."

Lili beamed again in the darkness. How many little sisters could be proud by saying their big brother was trying to make a safe area for her to play in? Very soon she'd be able to leave the parameters that were her cousins' property and skip and dance and play in the fields of flowers beyond them. But she sometimes wished it didn't have to be this way– she didn't get to see her big brother nearly as often. And she still wasn't sure of what he was doing to accomplish his goal.

"You'll be back soon?" Lili asked as her brother stood up some time later. He nodded. He then dug something out of his pocket.

"For you," he said, handing her the item. It was a brand new ribbon, the color a very gorgeous blue. Lili accepted it with delight, promising to wear it in the morning. Her brother seemed to smile after she said that. "Well then, goodnight." Lili closed her eyes as her big brother pulled the sheets back over her tiny form. When she opened them again, he was gone.

The next morning, as Lili headed toward the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, she heard one of her cousins sigh loudly in exasperation in the den. He was watching television. "What is it?" she asked, peering around the corner. Her cousin sighed again.

"It's your brother," he said, turning up the volume. On the screen was an image of said person.

"…rities consider the man dangerous and unpredictable, warning everyone to call the police if spotted. Authorities also say he has murdered at least seven people, all of whom seem to be connected to the attack on his family one month ago that was the cause of his parents' deaths. The extended family has custody over the youngest child until the man is captured; though he still remains at large…"


	27. The Empty Room

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.  
**

* * *

"Geez, Switzerland, do you think someone would really go that far for revenge?" America half-laughed, half-cried. The story had not ended the way he'd hoped. Switzerland didn't respond. "Dude…"

"Get off of me!" Romano yelled at his little brother, who had now run over to where he, Spain, Prussia, and France were. Italy shook his head.

"Promise me you'll never do anything scary like go on killing spree just for me?" he sobbed.

"Well not for _you_, dang it!" Romano growled, barely able to keep Italy at bay. But then he had to grab around Italy's waist to keep him from running to France when the Frenchman invited him to cuddle next to him. "Stop, you idiota! Don't go over to him!"

"Ah, but I'm scared and need someone with me," the Frenchman pretended to be nervous.

"That's an even better reason for him not to go." Looking around the room, he just noticed that most of the nations had separated into groups throughout the storytelling. Besides them, the three Nordics were in a loose group as were the Baltics. Russia was with his sisters (though still inching away from Belarus whenever he could), and England and Canada were still trying to coerce America out from underneath his jacket which he had flung over his head. The rest of the countries were separated into their regional groups. Except for Germany, Japan, and China. "What? You three not scared yet?"

"Why should we be?" Germany raised a brow, "They are just stories, told between a group of…friends would you say?"

"Hai. Besides, it's nice we can all get together like this and share creepypastas. This is something we should do more often."

"Oh," China suddenly looked crestfallen, "But…I don't think we should share _all_ the time…"

* * *

**The Empty Room**

**Based off of "Mr. Widemouth"  
Credited to: perfectcircle35**

When I was young, my family and I lived in a small house near the edge of a wood. I remember spending many hours with my friends there and playing hide and seek and chase, weaving between the shoots of bamboo. Sometimes we would just stay in the front yard and play Blind Man until the sun began to set. I remember always having fun whenever I played outside.

But the memories of playing indoors are even more vibrant. Sometimes I like to think I just had an overly creative and vivid imagination, but a part of me in the back of my mind tells me that I'm just deluding myself. The recollections of my time inside the house will stay with me until my dying day.

When I was five, the doctor had just diagnosed me with a severe case of Chikungunya and the fever left me bedridden for several weeks. My mother often times gave me tea to drink and books to read in case I got bored, but both my parents many-a-days left me alone for hours so that I could rest. I never told them that I rarely got any sleep while they were gone.

"Don't you want to go outside now?"

I sighed as I turned the page of my book. I can't recall when I first met him—it was sometime after the doctor's diagnosis—but ever since that day, he was persistent in me leaving the room. The pale hair, purple-eyed boy stayed with me since the first day of my fever.

"No, Ivan, I'm sick, aru," I answered a little impatiently, "So I can't leave until I get better."

Ivan stared at me from the edge of my bed, unnerving me slightly. His smile and shining eyes were so…creepy.

"Da, then I will help you get better. We can play a game."

"A game, aru? Now?"

"No, not now. Later." We were silent for a while as I continued reading. "I like your room."

The seemingly nowhere comment caused me to look up at him curiously. "What?"

"I like your room. It's really big. Do you think I could have it?"

"No! It's my room. I'm just letting you stay here." Which was half true. I never learned where Ivan lived (if he actually lived outside the house), but I do know whenever my parents came to check on me, he "mysteriously" disappeared underneath the bed. He informed me it was because if mother and father saw him they wouldn't let him stay with me.

Not that I would have minded if that had happened.

We waited until after my father made sure I had enough books to keep me occupied for several hours, then Ivan came out from his hiding spot and said cheerily, "Let's play the game now, da!"

"O-okay. What is it, aru?"

Ivan made his way to the door. "It's a special game we can only play when no one's looking. We have to play it in the Empty Room." The Empty Room was the room at the end of the hall. It was an old room my mother and father never bothered to decorate or put furniture in; we considered it mostly extra space. I was hesitant to go with Ivan since I was not allowed to leave my bed without permission. But Ivan insisted I come, so I did.

The thing about the Empty Room is that there is a window on the far wall that overlooks the backyard. Ivan ran over to this window, pushing it firmly upwards until it opened with a soft _creak!_ He beckoned me forward. I looked to the ground below.

We were on the second level, but since my house was on an incline, a drop from this height would be farther than two stories.

"Many times I like to play pretend," the pale haired boy smiled. "I pretend that there is a giant, bouncy trampoline just below the window, so I jump. If you pretend hard enough you are able to bounce right back up. You want to try it, da?"

I was five years old and sick with fever, so that logic sounded reasonable to me at the time. Still, I considered the prospect. "It seems a long way down."

"But it's supposed to. It's not nearly as much fun if it's a short drop. You might as well jump off your bed if you wanted that." My slightly delirious mind let me picture myself jumping out the window ready to bounce back up like a ball. Maybe it was because my parents brought me up with a low tolerance for excessive daydreaming but I very soon dismissed the idea.

"Another time perhaps. I don't have the energy right now to jump. And it's very hard to imagine a trampoline waiting for me at the bottom when there isn't one."

Though he was smiling, Ivan's eyes glimmered darkly and a sinister aura seemed to emanate from him. But just as quickly as the eeriness came, it disappeared without a trace. "Oh. Okay then. Maybe another time then." We returned to my room, where he stayed the rest of the day quietly hiding.

A few days later, after my parents checked my temperature, Ivan poked his head into my room. I jumped, unaware he had ever left my room to begin with. "Da, I have another game we can play. I want to teach you how to juggle." I gave him a quizzical look as he came into my room carrying a small box. "We can practice with these."

I looked into the box. It was filled with cutting knives.

"Aiya! We can't juggle with those! My parents will ground me on the spot if they see me holding them. I'll be punished for at least a year."

"But it's a lot more fun juggling with knives," pouted the boy, "After all, which is more amusing to watch– someone juggling balls or someone juggling swords? Knives are a good place in between."

I didn't think so in the slightest, but a part of me realized Ivan wasn't going to give me any other choice unless I had a very _very_ good reason otherwise.

"L-later, please! I hear you need to have a lot of concentration to juggle and I'm still a little dizzy from the cold, aru. It wouldn't be nearly as much fun for either of us if I kept dropping them everywhere and my parents come upstairs hearing all the noise."

For a second, the purple-eyed boy's smile faltered and I could see a very menacing scowl upon his face. Then he blinked, his grin easily replacing the frown as if it was never there. "Da, you are right. We wouldn't want your parents to see." He took the small box and crawled under my bed. I didn't sleep well that night.

Years passed. I had long gotten over my cold, but Ivan was still insisting I played games to get better. I was beginning to worry. When we were young, Ivan was a small boy, maybe a centimeter shorter than me. But now he was almost half a foot taller, and I realized he could bully me into doing things I'd otherwise not want to do. I never made any reference to our height while he was around.

Yet he still pestered me to play his "games", each of them becoming more and more dangerous, I soon realized, to my well-being. He suggested playing tag in a busy intersection, leaping across old trees branches, and even climbing the side of the house to the roof after it rained. One time, after a snow storm, he brought me back to the Empty Room and told me to jump from the window, saying the snow outside was soft and would break my fall. I may have been young but I was old enough to know that that was not true. And with each suggestion he made, it became harder and harder for me to come up with a valid excuse to decline.

I never told Ivan but my family had planned to move sometime in the spring after my tenth birthday. Father got a promotion and we were to go to the city so he could be closer to his work. "Say Ivan," I asked the night before we moved; Ivan was lying on the floor just beside my bed, "What would you say to me leaving, aru?"

The boy didn't say anything at first, just looked at me with a hard stare. "You wouldn't leave. We'd stay here forever." The way he said it so coldly…it was like it was final, something more than a premonition. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

"Duì, well then, good night." I watched until Ivan completely disappeared underneath the bed frame before I attempted to turn off the light.

After I switched off the light and crawled under my covers, Ivan spoke from the blackness, "Da, Yao? I have something I want to give you very soon."

"It can wait," I said, my voice a little higher than normal.

The next day my parents and I moved all our belongings into the moving truck. I had packed all of my things in secret so that Ivan wouldn't get suspicious. After making sure my room was completely bare I went to find Ivan. While I was glad he was not in my room to see me pack, I became uneasy as to where he could be. Something told me to check the Empty Room. I found Ivan staring out the window toward the backyard.

"Hm? Yao? What is it?" He turned to me as I came in, looking almost bored, his smile no longer on his face and his eyes oddly dulled.

"I…I wanted to say that we'll be leaving later today," I answered uncertainly, "A-a-and that I don't know when we'll be coming back."

"Is that so?" His voice was so void of emotion; I took the tiniest of steps back.

"B-but I wanted to say that you can have my room." That got Ivan's attention, and he blinked in surprise.

"Da? Really?"

"Yeah. In fact, I'll give it to you right now." The boy blinked again before narrowing his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because I'll be gone for quite a while and it wouldn't be fair for me to keep it while I'm away and you're here. You can have the room as long as I'm gone."

"And when you get back?" questioned Ivan, "Can I still keep it once you return?"

"Of course. I don't know when I'll be back…but yes." Ivan didn't say anything for a long moment before his face suddenly brightened.

"Thank you, Yao! Oh. I want to give you the thing I promised you last night."

"O-okay," I answered and watched as he left the room, humming to himself. Once he was out of eyesight, I rushed down the stairs and ran outside. My parents were waiting in the car.

"Did you finish double checking to make sure you have everything?" my mother asked from the passenger seat as I jumped into the back.

"Yes," I panted, my heart beating what felt like as fast as a hummingbird. My father started the engine and we slowly made our way off the property. As we left, I glanced up at my bedroom window. I could just make out Ivan's form. He was staring at me, dark violet eyes bored into mine. In his right hand was an iron pipe. I don't know where he got it from but I could almost swear it had a very thin layer of red grime coating the head. I quickly looked away.

It's been many years since then. I came back to this old house to reminisce. It's nothing but a hollow shell now; a fire a few months back destroyed the interior, leaving nothing but the blackened walls still standing. I walk around the house toward the backyard, shivering just slightly from the autumn breeze. I soon notice the window that connects to the Empty Room.

Ivan is there. He's waving at me. And the bloody pipe is still in his hand.


	28. Sleepless Nights

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"Ooh, I liked that story! I did not know you were into such tales." Russia beamed happily at the Chinese man. And clearly neither did any of the other countries. Now, literally everyone was shaking in fear, a few muttering incoherent statements. The ones that didn't appear scared were either good at hiding their emotions behind masks…or really not afraid, as hard as it may seem. Russia seemed to be the only one in this category.

"O-okay, that's one more down," Japan stuttered a bit as he pulled one of the remaining strips left from the pile. "Netherlands?" But the Netherlands didn't hear him as he tried desperately to get a crying South Korea out of his lap. "America?" The blond was blubbering like a baby onto Canada's shoulder, with Seychelles kindly rubbing his back for comfort. Japan turned a little frightfully to the only person left. "Russia?"

Russia blinked before smiling again. "Da! I have a good creepypasta. I'm sure all of you will love it…"

* * *

**Sleepless Nights**

**Based off of "The Russian Sleep Experiment"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

**Warning(s): Blood and gore, Character death**

The year was 1942, the middle of the Second World War. Ten soldiers were captured by the enemy, forced into participating in an experimental research. Five of the soldiers were selected to be monitored in a sealed environment; they were to be kept awake for fifteen days straight. Water was in easy access thanks to the only sink in the corner of the room, but food was to be dispensed through the 5-inch window and barrier. There were also cameras and microphones in the sealed room as well as a vent where a special gas was pumped in to keep the subjects forcibly awake.

Sadly, there was nothing in the room to keep them entertained. That was something they had to provide for themselves.

The five soldiers in custody – soldiers Braginski, Arlovskaya, Braginskaya, Laurinaitis, and Galante – were placed in the environment; the others held in a separate prison until it was their time to perform the experiment. For the first week, nothing much happened. Arlovskaya and Braginskaya, the only female soldiers, as well as Laurinaitis were always trying to comfort Galante, the smallest soldier who seemed too young to be witnessing war let alone be in one. Braginski was generally by himself, rarely speaking to the others, but somehow the enemy scientists determined he was the de facto leader of the group. The other four were quick to obey whatever he said.

But at the start of the second week, a strange and eerie aura permeated through the area. Severe paranoia floated about, and now all of the soldiers rarely talked to each other. Instead, they resorted to conversing in secret with the microphones. Apparently they found it better to trust their captors than each other. At first the scientists thought this was some sort of ploy, but the frequency of the conversions as well as the frantic sincerity in their voices led them to believe this was no trick.

Perhaps they can get some information out of them. The scientists tried coaxing all the information they could out of the prisoners, but while they five swore to turn over their comrades in an offer to get some sleep, they never relinquished any news about their army's battle plans.

Nine days in, the screaming began. It appeared Galante could no longer take it and was running around the room, his eyes wide as saucers in panic, his hands clutching at his disheveled hair. Laurinaitis tried speaking soothing words to the boy, but his efforts were half-hearted. The scientists watched in mild amusement as the other prisoners did not respond to the outburst; they ignored it completely. After a solid twenty-four hours of screaming, the boy fell silent, though his mouth still hung open in a silent wail. Galante clutched his throat. The scientists deduced he must have heavily damaged his vocal cords.

The moment Braginski noticed this he sent two silent glances at the women, who promptly took off their jackets and hung them against the rim of the window, blocking all view into the room. From the microphones, the enemy researchers could hear the sounds of something being hit and pounded, but even the cameras in the room could not pick up what the prisoners were doing.

None of the subjects spoke to the microphones after that day.

Three more days went by, and the researches had to constantly check to make sure all of their equipment was working since not a single noise could be heard from the environment. The graphs reading the oxygen intakes displayed all five subjects should still be living, in fact breathing heavily as if there wasn't enough air in the room, but still no sound was uttered. The scientists were beginning to grow a tad anxious.

On the day before the last day of testing, the researchers, for the first time, used the intercom, if only to finally get some sort of reaction out of the prisoners of war. They said, "We are going to check the microphones in the room. Do not try to escape or you will be shot. Once we finish, we shall release one of you back to your camp." The last part was a lie, but they just had to know how the prisoners would respond.

To their complete shock, Braginski answered for all of them: "Okay, but we do not wish to be let go anymore, da?"

That was all. Not again could they get any word out of their mouths. On midnight the following night, the researchers stopped the gas flow, emptying the room of the toxin. Almost ten minutes after the instruments showed that the chemical levels were falling, four different screeches rang out through the room. The scientist wearing the headphones had to quickly throw them off from the intensity of the feral cries. They begged for the gas to be turned on, their hysterical pleads almost heart-wrenching. Guards had to be brought in to subdue the prisoners. There was one too many though as it was discovered the youngest soldier was no longer living. He was clearly beaten to death, numerous cuts and scrapes across his body as if somebody tried slicing him open.

The guards removed the body while having to fight off the slowly deranged "survivors". Outside, the scientists grew worried. Their state-of-the-art equipment told them five people were still alive, yet here was clearly a corpse. How had they been fooled so easily?

Furthermore, what had happened inside the environment? The prisoners were in horrible condition: they all had deathly pale skin, tight flesh that looked like it was beginning to stretch over their bones, and large pieces of skin and meat were missing from each of their bodies. Upon closer inspection, the scientists found these wounds to be delivered by hand rather than teeth…and self-inflicted.

It didn't take the researchers more than three guesses to figure out what happened to all the torn flesh. The subjects begged for the gas to be turned back on, screaming that they did not wish to fall asleep.

The scientists had no choice but to remove the subjects in order to properly tend their wounds. They and the guards were surprised by the savageness the prisoners fought back with against being moved. Braginski managed to steal one of the soldiers' batons and severely injure him as well as club to death another. Arlovskaya stole a pocketknife, slashing the arms and necks of anyone who dared approach her. Braginskaya and Laurinaitis fought back with their fists, but in the midst of the battle Laurinaitis inexplicably started bleeding heavily from the mouth, the red liquid flooding out uncontrollably like a waterfall.

The medical team, forcing their way through, tried giving a sedative so they could see what had happened, but their attempts were all but futile. One doctor received a broken jaw as the man lashed back. Eventually, someone managed to jam the needle into his arm. For two whole minutes, Laurinaitis fought back like a wild animal, his strength never waning even with morphine levels ten times higher than they needed to be and several more being injected. All the while, he kept demanding "More! MORE!" over and over until, at last, his screaming and heart grew weaker and weaker until they stopped.

If the three remaining soldiers felt sorry of their comrade's unfortunate death they failed to show it. Instead, they were restrained to medical beds and rushed into the medical facility for surgery, all moaning to be kept awake by the gas.

Braginskaya, who was the most heavily injured of the three, was hurried into the operating room immediately. Her arms were nearly ripped off by her desperate struggling and her rib cage was broken. The doctors said they had to use anesthesia to prepare her. The moment she heard that, she screamed and resumed her animalistic struggle. She managed to choke one of the doctors to death by wrapping her legs around his neck and squeezing tightly. She didn't even immediately respond when the first tank of the anesthetics were used, but after inhaling the concentrated gas her eyelids began to flutter shut. In once last frantic attempt to break free, Braginskaya pushed against her restraints with every ounce of her strength. But the gas was too strong for her body to handle, and her heart ceased beating soon after she was put under. An autopsy revealed it wasn't entirely the gas that killed her– all of her muscles were torn, some completely off of her skeleton and from around her diaphragm.

Braginski was also brought into surgery for the torn muscles in his arms and around his abdomen. When the doctors suggested using sleeping gas on him as well, he roared that, no, they will perform the operation without it and they would do it now. The medical team was stunned but complied to the soldier's wish. Not once did Braginski make a sound during the six hour operation as they cut him open and began working on his insides. In fact, he almost seemed to have a look of ecstasy on his face, and when one of the doctors made eye contact with him, Braginski's mouth curved into a wicked grin.

Right before the two subjects were to return to their environment, the scientists asked why they had injured themselves so badly. Their only response? "Anything to stay awake."

At long last, the two remaining soldiers were put back on their blessed gas. The researchers were now very, very frightened– what had they done to these people to cause them to go berserk? Were they tampering in a field man was never meant to mess with? Right before they shut the door, the scientists connected the survivors to an EEG monitor as well as had their leather restraints padded. The two didn't even struggle as they were strapped to the beds; all that mattered was that the gas was being turned back on.

The researchers began monitoring their brain waves immediately. Their graphs appeared fine generally, but every so often they would flatline as if they were brain dead but then somehow recovered before any permanent damage was done.

The scientists feared they wouldn't be able to keep their subjects for much longer. They immediately called for the other five to be brought in. The remaining five soldiers – Jones, Kirkland, Bonnefoy, Zwingli, and Wang – were forced from their prison to the hall leading to the environment. When passing by the room, they each looked in through the glass window, spotting two of their comrades strapped inside. The enemy researchers informed them of the experiment they were about to perform on them as well as the reactions and results of the previous subjects. Instantly, the eyes of the "fresh" subjects filled with terror.

They entered the same room their two remaining comrades were in, looking in disgust at what they had been reduced to and fearing the same fate. The guards strapped each of them down to a table, not wanting a repeat like last time. When they got to Jones, the soldier leaped back from them, twisting his wrists free from his captor, and stole his gun, immediately shooting fire at them. The ones in the room fell down dead, but a stray bullet had accidentally lodged itself into Arlovskaya's skull, shattering it and killing her instantly.

Reinforcements were brought in, but the soldier struggled back. In the tussle, he was slammed against Braginski's bed. "What happened to you?" he cried, almost forced on top of the lying man as guards piled on top of him. This man was nothing at all as how Jones remembered him. And if what the scientists said was true…"_What_ are you?"

Braginski half-opened his eyes, smiling up at him.

"Do you honestly not know? We are you. We are the darkness, the insanity, the madness that lurks inside every one of you, begging to be free from the darkest corners of your mind but never heard. We are what you try to hide each night as you lie asleep in bed. We are what you silence and paralyze to keep us out of the nocturnal haven you call slumber. Oh yes, we are your deepest fears, always seeking a way to escape. And very soon you shall be liberated as well."

Jones was momentarily petrified. Then, before the guards were able to subdue him, he lifted the pistol and aimed at his comrade's chest. The bullet hit the heart, the EEG flatlined, and Braginski managed one final weak gasp, "So…nearly…free…"


	29. Message in the Darkness

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

By the time Russia finished his tale, the rest of the nations were all sitting together in one large mass, many of them hugging each other. "Da! I told you you'd like it!"

"Stay. _Away_. From us," Romano yelped. Naturally, Russia came over. All the countries in the front flinched. Then, a loud clacking noise filled the air, and everyone paused in confusion, wondering what it could be.

"You hear that?"

"Yeah, it sounds like it's really close."

"Where is it coming from?"

"I don't know."

"Oi! Over here!" Everyone turned their attention to the center of the mob.

"Now that's pathetic, America," England frowned disapprovingly at the young nation. The boy had taken off his jacket and was attempting to cower under it like it was a tiny blanket. He was shivering quite badly, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. The American peeked his head out from underneath.

"Th-th-th-th-this was a-a-a r-reall-lly b-bad idea a-aft-t-ter all. C-c-can we s-s-stop?"

"But we're almost done," Japan answered, showing him the twenty-eight strips of paper in his hands, "And you're one of the last two to go. Why don't you tell a story; get it over with?"

"N-nah way, brah!"

"It doesn't have to be long or scary."

America thought about this while still shaking under his bomber jacket. "O-o-o-okay, but i-it's not scary. I d-d-don't think I-I can take much m-more of this…"

* * *

**Message in the Darkness**

**Based off of "Masterpiece"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

**Warning(s): Blood and gore, Character/Implied character death**

I look out the window. The moon is shining brightly above me, its heavenly glow mocking me as I continue to suffer through this endless nightmare. How long have I been lying as still as a board under these sheets? A couple seconds? A few minutes? The moon's trajectory says three hours.

I peek at Arthur. I'm terrified. He's been blindly staring at me for hours now. The smell of drying blood and iron fill my nostrils as those red rivers of life harden on his now pale white skin. His mouth is half open in a silent scream which I swear I can still hear despite no noise being uttered in the room. Oh God I wish he would – _could _– look away.

And that's not even the scariest thing right now. No– even with my dead father sitting on my bed, the scariest thing is knowing that I might not be alive for much longer. And it's all my fault I basically screwed myself. Why why why why _why_ didn't I listen to Arthur? If only I didn't pick up that summoning book.

I hear movement. Mine? No…if it was, it would have killed me by now. The temptation to shiver grows unbearably stronger with each passing second.

It's waiting oh so patiently…

Thinking back, it's a wonder I've lasted this long. It started when I went into father's magic chamber while he was resting in the living room. I knew I wasn't allowed to go in – Arthur said it's dangerous to go inside – but I didn't care. I was curious. I found one of his spell books open. I flipped through the pages until I found something interesting. It was a summoning spell. The ink was too faded for me to read what was supposed to be summoned.

If I had just let it go there, if I had just been discouraged by the amount of magic needed to work the spell, if I had just _put the book down_ I wouldn't be in this terrifying mess right now.

But my curiosity got the better of me. It always does. I drew the circle, I uttered the words, and I let the flow of forbidden magic run. I was excited, yes…but I soon became very afraid. In the blinding light that cast crimson shadows across the walls, a thick grey _unhuman_ hand pierced through the center of the ring. I freaked, unable to stop the summoning. I dashed up the stairs, slamming the door. But I didn't stop there. I ran all the way to the second floor, slamming the door shut to my room as well.

"Alfred?" Arthur called out my name in surprise. I don't blame him– he thought I was already in bed. I didn't answer him as I lay in my bed, the covers completely wrapped over me, pretending to be asleep. I heard footsteps. "Alfred, for goodness sake, you shouldn't be up at this ungodly hour of the-"

The screams of terror that came after that will forever haunt my dreams.

I don't know what that demon did to daddy, but at the time I was too scared to move or even lock my door. So I stayed there, in the darkness of my room, cowering under the blankets, as I heard the monster I had summoned drag something heavy up the stairs.

It stopped when it reached the top.

_Please turn back, please turn back,_ I prayed silently in my head.

Footsteps began to walk down the hall.

_Please don't come here, please don't come here._

The footsteps stopped in front of my door.

_Don't come in, don't come in._

My doorknob turned. My breath silently hitched as the door opened. I could just make out from underneath the crack of my covers the shadowy form of something large standing in the doorframe. In its left hand was the corpse of my father, bloodied and mangled.

I was petrified with fear.

The monster walked in quietly. It effortlessly picked up the body of Arthur and propped him on the edge of my bed, straightened his bloody clothes and twisted his head so that he faced me. From outside, one might have thought he was about to tell me a bedtime story. Might.

The monster then went over to the wall directly across from me. It smeared its hands along the wall beside my window; even in the dark, the thick red blood of Arthur contrasts greatly with the wallpaper's normal shade of sky blue. It then moved to the other side of my bed, the side I'm not facing.

That all happened just three hours ago. Neither of us has moved since then. I don't know if it's even still here. Perhaps the spell had finally run its course and the monster had returned whence it came. Or perhaps the tell-tale sensation of eyes staring unwaveringly at me isn't in my imagination.

I want to scream. So badly do I want to scream and never stop screaming. But that is exactly what the monster wants me to do. It's waiting for me to critique its work, and that is one thing I simply won't do. For its work has a message. And it's for me.

My eyes shift toward the window again. They have long since adjusted to the darkness thanks to the moon's radiating light. Long since have allowed me to read the monster's message even in the cover of the night. Still, I yearn for the first rays of the sun to strike through the glass. But I feel in the pit of my stomach that I am never going to see that moment. And the feeling solidifies even more as my eyes slowly slide back over to the words written in blood on the wall:

_I Know You're Awake_


	30. One Last Note

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

For a solid minute there was nothing but silence in the meeting room. America just arguably told the scariest story yet, and those that did keep up the pretense of being uninterested were losing their façade. Then all at once there was talk. If that was what America considered not scary, then what did that say about the other creepypastas that frightened him? Half of the nations began arguing amongst themselves over who told the better story. A fourth was crying in fright, being reminded of all the horror tales, and the rest were left with the daunting and impossible task of bringing order. Almost no one took notice when the final voice rang out…

* * *

**One Last Note…**

Your light is on. You are huddling on your bed, aren't you; or perhaps sitting at your desk? Maybe now you are considering you should have started the story in the day when the sun was still out. For those of you who dare to brave the night of horror, I wish you the best of luck. For those who thought they could shirk by reading while in the safety of the light…well the sun can only stay up for so long, my friend…

We've heard the tales, the stories, the creepypastas that have plagued this world since the dawn of time. Legends passed down of horrendous beings that strike fear into the minds of the bravest of souls, and knives into the hearts of those unfortunate. People swarmed the web with their art and videos, devoted themselves to writing stories and entries, 'warned' the populace of the menaces roaming this earth, created entire websites in order to catalogue every single witnessed event and sighting. Have you been one of those people? I hope not. If so, you're one of the spreaders of the darkness.

Me? I know what I'm doing is wrong. But I have no qualm about it. After all, what is life without a little fright? I'm just like the rest of you: I hide under my blankets at night whenever I hear a noise. I flinch every time I think I see a shadow move just outside my range of vision. I tell myself there is no reason to be afraid of the beings that I hear about. And there really shouldn't be any reason to fear them.

If they get me, they get me, and there won't be a single thing I can do about it.

So why is it I force myself onto the world wide web? Force myself to terrify myself to the point I can no longer sleep? Force myself to put my life in danger each time I do this? You know the saying "What you don't know can't hurt you?" Yeah, well, there's _some_ truth to that. If I hadn't known about the creatures that prowl around in the darkness, if I hadn't known about the serial killers that take utter delight in seeing the tormented faces of their victims, if I hadn't seen the images of those smiling kids and canines and the blank eyes and faces of monsters, I _might_ not be making my soul suffer so much. I _might_ be just outside their grasp for them to ever reach me. I _might_ be able to continue my existence with a blissfully ignorant mind. But I have seen them, I have heard them, and I have _helped spread_ them. So I am never safe.

Those stories you've heard, those just now and those from before, they _are_ real. The people weren't lying. There really is a man who poisoned his whole family for the sake of being with them, and a child out there terrified of the monster under her bed, and a person out there who escaped fate's strings (if only for a moment) to deliver to us the knowledge of what lies on the other side. You can look it up if you want. I am not one of those people; I am merely an observer like the rest of you.

I bet at this point you're waiting for me to just tell you how you can be safe from all of this. Well here's the answer: you can't. Nope! I've tried finding ways, but honestly you're doomed the moment you read that first word of that creepypasta that says "This is real!" (You probably should have paid more attention to the warning). You see, there's a very good reason your paranoia kicks in right as you're in the middle of the story: that's when you unconsciously, for the briefest of moments, know what you're reading is real. But oh no – not in the physical sense! Heavens, if they existed on the physical plane it'd be a wonder the human population was still around.

Your brain never forgets. Once you imagine something, no matter how brief the image, it stays in your mind for the rest of your life. In your head, the monsters are real. They can _never_ die. You can never escape them. And your brain will periodically throw those imagines into the forefront just spite you and make you unable to sleep. Sometimes you don't even need a stimulant– you'll just be getting ready for bed, thinking about what you might want for breakfast in the morning when all of a sudden – _BOOM!_ – the thought that Slenderman might just actually be standing right outside your bedroom window pops into your head. That's when you think '_Who needs sleep anyways?' _You've become a prisoner to the whims of your fear's imagination._  
_

I guess the point I'm trying to make is don't get caught up in a creepypasta. It's just a story, no different than the ones you've heard as a child. It's just that these tend to stay in your head longer. And cause psychological damage if left untreated. But know your nightmares will be waiting for you tonight. You've let them come out this far; it'll be a while before you can finally push them back down again. Even the most lucid dreamer can't always control them. And they will escape from the deepest recesses of your mind from time to time, just to let you know. There won't be anything you can do about that; such is the curse of hearing their tale. So when they do come, try not to scream…


	31. Epilogue

The sun had finally risen. Birds chirped merely from outside the building. Every nation present grumbled as they woke up, having to untangle themselves out of the jumble they made of their bodies on the floor. A few were in the middle of stretching when the door to the meeting hall clicked. An old janitor peered his head inside.

"Dear me, were you ladies and gents in here all night?"

"Yeah," America yawned and pushed himself off of Canada's stomach, painfully waking up the latter.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I thought you all had left. It was well after 11:15 last night. But on the bright side-" and here he grinned, "Happy Halloween!" There was a loud, collective groan from the group, causing the old janitor to blink in confusion.

"I think I've had enough of this horror nonsense to last me a long while," grumbled England as he grabbed his things and headed out the door. France was right on his heels.

"Honhon, this coming from the one who sees fairies on a daily occurrence?"

"Shut up you frog!"

"I'm just glad the sun's up," said Finland, stifling back a yawn. Sweden helped him up and the two made their way out as well.

"Hey, don't forget about me!" Denmark hurried to catch up with them.

"Geez, I can't believe we actually managed to sleep through the rest of the night after all that," Turkey commented. He looked over at Egypt and Greece. "Hey, wake up Sleeping Ugly." Egypt lightly poked at Greece's shoulder, and the latter woke up with a jerk.

"Wha…? Morning already…?" Greece stretched his entire body, pulling himself out like a cat would. He found his belongings and followed tiredly after the Egyptian and the Turk, muttering a quick farewell to Japan before stepping out.

"I need to get home!" And Switzerland ran out without another word. Seychelles joined in with Hungary and Austria as they left, the women having some conversation about the interesting positions some of the men woke up in.

"Germany! Japan! We made it~!" Italy felt so proud to have survived the night with his friends.

"Hey, he's right!" grinned Spain, elbowing Romano, "We survived."

"Get your head out of the clouds; there wasn't anything to survive from." Romano was quick to growl at the Spaniard- and protested quite loudly when the former started dragging him off.

"Well then, do you think it is time for us to be leaving?" Russia addressed his party.

"Yes," Ukraine said, and Russia noticed she was being uncharacteristically clingy to him, much to the chagrin of Belarus.

"If you want to be next to someone, I'll be happy to offer you my arm," Lithuania offered, but Belarus either didn't hear or ignored him and stormed off in a huff. The Baltics followed single-file after Russia and Ukraine.

"Aiya! I just remembered– if it's morning here, it's night back home!" China moaned.

"It's okay!" South Korea jumped onto the older nation's back, knocking him off his feet. "Whoops! Anyway, you'll be able to get your rest there too because sleep originated in me!"

"That's not what I'm worried about," muttered the Chinese man, picking himself off the ground. He and South Korea left; Japan asked if Australia would like a ride home.

"Ay, mate, that'd be good," Australia grinned. The duo proceeded out the door.

"Say Germany, do you think we can have pasta for breakfast?" the Italian asked as he and the German brothers stood.

"No," was the immediate response.

"Aww, but why not?"

"Can't you think of having something other than those carbohydrates for breakfast?"

"Then can we use wurst instead of meatballs?"

"Italy, I just said-"

"Ooh! I second that!" Prussia raised his hand to Italy's suggestion. Germany groaned in defeat, being dragged along by his hungry brother and the skipping Italian. America and Canada chuckled as they watched them leave. Canada stood, going to the table to make sure he had all his things.

"Goodbye." Netherlands made to leave as America turned to him.

"See ya. And cool story, bro!" The Netherlands opened his mouth to say something, paused, then closed it and continued his way out. America chuckled again as Canada walked up to him. "Ready?"

"I think so," the quieter twin answered.

It was such a beautiful day outside. The crisp autumn air was very refreshing after being stuck in that stuffy room for over ten hours.

"HAHAHA! This is great!" America couldn't help but grin. After that fright, even the chilliness of the air felt like a warm welcome. "Say Canada, do you have anything planned for this evening?"

"What?" Canada's eyes widened slightly, "Don't tell me you're thinking of doing that again?"

"No, I mean for Halloween! Trick-or-treating. Want to stay at my place? I bet the kids will get a kick out of both of our costumes." Canada smiled and nodded. The twins walked down the street together, America chatting happily about what he planned to do tonight, and Canada listening absentmindedly. The conversation slowly shifted back to last night's event. "Aw man, and Russia's scared the crap out me!" laughed the American, "Leave it to him to come up with the creepiest story. Well, no, I think that prize goes to Netherlands. I didn't know he was able to make up a creepypasta on the spot like that. I'm not going to lie: it kinda spooked me. Not in a 'Oh-my-gosh-I-wanna-pee-in-my-pants' sort of way, but a, you know, creepier-than-creepy kind of way." Canada was in mid-nod when he actually registered what his brother was saying.

"Say that again?"

"Huh? What?"

"Who told the story?" America grinned.

"That's rich, coming from you. Netherlands, you know. I think he wins for sending the most chills up my spine." Canada frowned.

"…Except Netherlands never told a story." America kept walking a few more paces before stopping.

"What do you mean? I saw Japan pull the last strip of paper, and I know the last speaker wasn't a voice who went."

"But I was sitting next to him," Canada replied, "The whole time. And not once did he open his mouth." Now it was America's turn to frown. Worry began to etch its way onto his face.

"Wait…so if the Netherlands never went…then who was speaking?"

* * *

**And thus concludes "Hetalian Creepypastas." Thank you everyone who stuck around for the whole ride. It was a great joy finding and writing all these creepypastas for you. I didn't think this would become so popular over the course of 31 days; I originally just pictured this to be a simple drabble-challenge. I especially want to thank all of the creative authors out there whose stories I used to make this series; you guys are amazing! And thank you, readers and reviewers, for all for your support; I know I wouldn't have made it without it. **

**I'm not too sure what else to say here (heh heh) so I wish all of you a safe and happy Halloween!**

* * *

**Extra!: For those of you who read my profile, you may know I'm currently in the process of writing my first crossover, a HetaliaXPokemon fanfiction. I plan to release it soon, probably in December, so keep an eye out for it. For those interested, here's an edited sneak peek of the first chapter:**

* * *

The scent of sweet, springtime grass filled his nose and woke him from his slumber. Birds chirped merrily in the distance. The serene calmness of the neighboring forest was a complete contrast to the chaos happening inside the conference room, which was ever so welcoming. He could just stay here forever, he mused, enjoying the delightful comfort of the sun's warmth and the blanket of colorful wildflowers surrounding him.

_Wait a minute- how did I end up outside?_ Germany's thought suddenly brought him back to reality. "Italy! Japan!" he cried out to his friends. But no one was around…

Germany entered the woods, a little surprised by how much larger-than-normal the foliage was. One large bush was almost as tall as he was. "Italyyy! Japaaan!" Still no response, though Germany could have sworn he heard whispering from the trees above him. But there was no one above him save for some bizarre looking birds eyeing him nervously. They were sky blue in color and had what looked like wings made of white cotton.

Germany had no interest in the oddities and continued his search. "Verdammt, answer me guys! Where are you? Ita-?" What sounded like giggling floated through from some nearby bushes. Pushing through, he found himself at the bank of a tiny pond. In front of him, completely engrossed in his reflection, was another strange creature. But what made it truly extraordinary was that it was talking.

"Oh, wow, I look completely different. I wonder what happened to me. But I do look kinda adorable. Hey, I got a tail, what do you know! Aha, I bet Germany would be surprised to see me now. Say, I wonder where my-"

_That voice- it couldn't be?_ "Italy?" Germany stepped forward.

The creature turned around and screamed. "Waaah! Please don't hurt me! I'm too young to die! I didn't mean to trespass in your area, I just thought this place looked nice and I wanted to rest! I don't mean to upset you. Please, I'll do anything, just don't eat meeee!"

"Italy, it's me, Germany!"

"Germany?" the animal looked at him, "Wow, you sure fooled me! You look pretty scary. I thought you were a monster coming to eat me."

"Huh?" Germany had no idea what Italy (at least, he was pretty sure that was him) was talking about.

"Come see," Italy beckoned toward the water. Curious, Germany followed.

"HOLY FÜH-! WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO ME!"

"I don't know, but your face is very terrifying."…the only resemblance to his former appearance was his still neatly combed back hair and blue eyes.

"This is bad," growled Germany, "Somehow England was able to teleport us away from the meeting center and turn us into these strange-looking animals. Come on, let's find Japan before going to look for the others."

"No need, I am right here." The two paused as another creature walked into the clearing…"I heard you screaming all the way from where I woke up."

"Whoa, Japan is that you? You look pretty scary too, though not as much as Germany."

"Japan, how do you suppose we got here, and what kind of animals do you reckon England turned us into?" Germany questioned as Japan walked over to examine himself in the pond.

"Just as I feared," muttered Japan, "I don't think we're on Earth anymore."

"Not on Earth? What do you mean?"

"We've somehow ended up in the game. And now that we've become players, I fear we won't be able to leave so easily…"


End file.
